Without A Trace
by EKWTSM9
Summary: There are those cases that you know are going to change you forever, in one way or another, for the good or for the bad; you don't get the choice. THIS STORY CONTAINS THEMES AND LANGUAGE THAT MAY BE DISTURBING TO SOME READERS. DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

Glancing around the dimly lit and empty Homicide Bureau, not even trying to stifle a yawn, Inspector Steven Keller leaned back in his desk chair and stretched. He and his partner had finally wrapped up an annoyingly difficult domestic homicide and the lieutenant was presenting their case to the ADA.

It seemed to be taking a lot longer than anticipated; Mike had been gone for almost four hours and the sun had long since set. But he didn't feel comfortable abandoning his partner and going home, even though his stomach was now growling and he could almost taste that first swallow of cold beer.

It had been a long and frustrating investigation, compromised and obfuscated by an extensive list of suspects and witnesses that took a lot of old-fashioned footwork and patient digging to winnow down to the inevitable conclusion. Both he and Mike were looking forward to a couple of days off to catch up on some much needed sleep and just clear their minds.

He dropped his elbows onto the desk and was running his hands through his hair when he heard the office door open and a weary Mike shuffled into the bullpen and started towards his office. Steve looked up. "So?" he asked as his partner meandered past him.

Without stopping, Mike exhaled loudly. "Gerry's gonna take it to the Grand Jury next week. He's happy with what we've given him. So, my young friend," he continued with a smile in his voice, "you and I are finally free to go home. What do you say?"

"I say, bring it on," Steve said with a chuckle and a grin as he got to his feet and slid his jacket from the back of the chair.

Mike stopped just inside his office door, took the fedora off the coat rack and dropped it haphazardly on his head. He circled his desk, took the .38 out of the top drawer, snapped it on his belt, then crossed back to the door. He was just about to turn off the fluorescent overheads in the small glassed-in office when the outer door opened and a beefy middle-aged man entered the room. Both Homicide detectives turned in his direction.

"Mike, Steve," the florid-faced redhead with the military buzzcut nodded as he closed the gap between them, "glad I caught you guys. You got a minute?"

Mike glanced at his partner and, seeing no objection, nodded as he took off his hat. "Sure, Phil, what can we do for you?"

Missing Persons Lieutenant Philip Jenkins took a deep breath and gestured towards the inner office. "Ah, sorry, but this may take awhile. Do you mind?"

Mike glanced behind himself briefly. "No, no, of course not. Come on in."

Jenkins dropped heavily into the guest seat as Mike sat in his desk chair, dropping his fedora onto the desk. Steve took up his usual station behind his partner, leaning against the filing cabinet. "What's up?"

Glancing at Steve and inhaling deeply, Jenkins leaned forward. "You two guys heard about that three-year-old that went missing from Golden Gate Park two days ago?"

Mike glanced up at Steve and nodded. "Yeah, he went missing from the Carousel, or something like that… Sorry, but we've been up to our eyeballs with one mother of a double…"

"Yeah, I heard," Jenkins commiserated, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. "Well, if you'll allow me, I'd just like to fill you in…?"

Mike glanced up again and caught his partner eye; Steve's subtle nod back was almost missed by their colleague. "Of course, go right ahead," Mike encouraged with a smile.

"Thanks," Jenkins nodded, leaning back and unconsciously straightening his tie. "Well, this young mother had her kids with her in the Park. They were watching the carousel when she suddenly collapsed. An ambulance was called and she was taken to Franklin; turned out she has some kind of a heart problem. A mitro valve something or other…

"Anyway, the Park personnel looked after her kids until her husband could be contacted and he could get to the Park. He was at a gym working out with a neighbour. So, he gets to the Park and finds out they only have two of his kids there – a two-year-old and an infant. He starts screaming, 'where's Donny, where's my three-year-old'. The Park guys had no idea there were three kids; when they got to the mother, there were only two kids with her.

"So, long story short, we get a call and we hustle down there and we start a search for the three-year-old. One of my guys is at the hospital with the mother and when she's well enough to talk, she goes ballistic, screaming that she went to the Park with three kids, what happened to Donny."

Mike had sat forward, his forearms on the desk, his brow furrowed. Steve's casual lean against the filing cabinet had become more rigid and focused.

"Anyway, she's accusing our guys and the Park guys of losing her kid. The husband starts in on us as well. And, of course, everyone starts getting anxious and worried as hell.

"So, Bob Braxton – you know him, Mike, right?" The Homicide lieutenant nodded with a brief smile. "So, Bob, he's interviewing the mother about the three-year-old and she tells him Donny isn't really her kid, he's a foster. Seems that four months earlier, he'd been found wandering in traffic. His drug addict single mother couldn't look after him, and he's a product of his…ah, lineage, I guess you could call it. So he was taken from her.

"According to the foster mother, he has developmental problems and he's essentially non-verbal. He needs full-time care. But she said he blossomed under her care and really enjoyed being with the other kids and he was really doing well."

Jenkins sat back and took a deep breath. "Anyway, we got a search party out there and had our guys and unies going through the Park tree by tree and leaf by leaf, and we had people knocking on doors four blocks from the Park in all directions. Nobody saw hide nor hair of this kid.

"We even found out about all the sex offenders that were known in the area… and again, nothing. We brought in the dogs. We interviewed everyone in the Park at the time, and anyone that goes to the Park regularly at the same time of the day, you know all the routine stuff we do to find a missing kid. And still nothing…."

Jenkins stopped talking and looked meaningfully from Mike to Steve and back again. "Mike," he began slowly and quietly, "nobody we interviewed remembered seeing Donny with her in the Park that day. They remembered the other two kids… but not Donny."

"And you don't think he was ever in that park, do you, Phil?"

Jenkins nodded slowly. "No, I don't."

Mike leaned back in the chair, continuing to stare at his colleague. "And that's why you've come to us, isn't it? You don't think that kid ever even made it into the park... You think he's dead, don't you?"

Jenkins held the blue-eyed stare for a long moment before he nodded slowly. "Yeah," he breathed quietly.

Mike closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He opened his eyes slowly and turned to meet those of his partner. He knew they were both exhausted, mentally and physically, but he also knew this was not something they could turn away from. With a heavy sigh, he stared at Jenkins.

"First thing in the morning, bring us everything you've got."


	2. Chapter 2

It was shortly after nine a.m. when Steve walked into Homicide and approached his desk. Shrugging off his jacket, he glanced towards the inner office and grinned slightly to himself, not at all surprised to see his partner already behind the desk, in shirtsleeves and reading glasses, poring over a file.

Dropping his jacket over the back of his chair, he crossed to the coffee counter and picked up an empty mug. As he poured his first of the day, he leaned into the open inner office doorway. "What time did you get in?"

Mike glanced up overtop of his glasses. "Oh, good morning, buddy boy." He looked back down at the file. "Yeah, ah, got in about an hour ago, I guess. Couldn't sleep, kept thinking about what Phil told us."

Chuckling, Steve entered the small room slowly and dropped into the guest chair, crossing his legs and taking a sip of coffee. "Why am I not surprised?" he snorted rhetorically. "Did you get _any_ sleep?"

Mike looked up briefly. "Enough."

Steve nodded to himself, knowing that meant only an hour or two. "So, what have you got so far?"

Mike leaned back, took off his glasses and tossed them onto the file. He rubbed a hand over his face. "Catherine and John Beaton, the foster parents of Donald Tyler. He's 29, she's 28. They've been married for four years, and they have four kids - two of their own, two of which are adopted, as well as fostering Donny. They're well known to Child Services but in a good way. From what I've read here, there've been no complaints about them as parents or foster parents.

"Catherine is a stay-at-home mom. John doesn't work - well, he doesn't work regularly. Seems he has some kind of…emotional problems… I can't seem to find any paperwork on what that is, exactly, and Phil's guys couldn't find out either in the past couple of days, so that's something we have to look into. Anyway, he gets a disability stipend and picks up some odd jobs here and there, and they get money for the kids, child benefits and that sort of thing, food stamps, and they seem to get by… though I don't know how."

He glanced up from the file and cocked his head, raising his eyebrows. "From what I've read so far, there's nothing here to tell me this guy would suddenly go psychotic and murder one of his kids, but I think we have a lot of work to do here, buddy boy. Something doesn't feel right, you know what I mean?"

Leaning forward, Steve put his cup on the desk and reached across for the file. As he turned it around, he glanced up. "Yeah, sounds like it. You really think the kid is dead?"

Mike nodded slowly, staring into the middle distance, absent-mindedly pinching his lower lip between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. He sighed and dropped his hand. "Yeah, I do. I wish I didn't… but I do."

Steve nodded, turning his attention to the file. He lifted a couple of pages and glanced at the reports and handwritten notes. Taking a loud deep breath, he leaned back. "So, where do you want to start?"

Refocusing on his young partner, Mike leaned forward and cleared his throat. "Well, I think we need to start at square one, don't you? I want to visit the family, get a look at the house, see how they live, talk to the parents. Then I want to swing by the Park and get a look at the exact area where this, ah, 'disappearance' is supposed to have taken place. How does that sound to you?"

"Sounds like a plan," Steve nodded as he got to his feet; Mike did the same. "Say, ah, have you had anything except coffee this morning?" he asked, indicating the empty cup on the desk as he closed the file and picked it up.

Mike glanced guiltily at the cup as he circled towards the coat rack and picked up his jacket. "Oh, ah, no, I don't think so," he said under his breath as he shrugged the jacket on and picked up his hat.

Preceding his partner into the bullpen, Steve glanced back with a frown. "Let's stop at Boudin's and grab a couple of sourdough biscuits before you keel over, all right?"

Flashing a grin, Mike followed the younger man across the large, suddenly busy office. "I like the sound of that, buddy boy. And I'll even spring for 'em!"

# # # # #

Mike rapped lightly on the dark blue wooden door of the well-kept three storey Edwardian on 17th near Guerrero. In the otherwise run-down neighbourhood, the care and effort this particular house displayed was an unusual and impressive sight. He glanced at Steve and raised his hand to knock again when they heard the lock unsnap and a young red-haired woman, her face puffy and wet from an extended period of crying, opened the door. Her eyebrows knit in confusion.

Both men flipped open their I.D.'s and badges. "Mrs. Beaton, I'm Lieutenant Stone and this is Inspector Keller, San Francisco Police. We'd like to ask you and your husband a few questions about the disappearance of your son Donny, if that's okay?" Mike asked quietly and gently as he snapped the leather case closed and slipped it back into his pocket.

Blinking uncertainly, she hesitated. "Um, we've already told the police everything we know…"

"I know, I know," Mike acknowledged soothingly as Steve looked on with an encouraging smile, "but you see, Lieutenant Jenkins has asked us to give them a hand seeing as Missing Persons is overwhelmed with cases right now, and Steve and I," he continued, nodding briefly towards his partner, "well, we'd just like to see and hear things for ourselves. I hope you understand."

Steve swallowed a grin; no matter how long they had been together, or how many times he had seen him do it, he was always impressed by Mike's ability to calm and schmooze someone while at the same time getting exactly what he wanted without the other party even realizing it.

"Um, oh, ah, of course, come on in." She opened the door wider and stepped back for them to enter.

"Mrs. Beaton," Mike began again as he stepped over the threshold, "ah, Catherine is it?"

"Kate," she corrected gently and quickly, "please, Lieutenant, you can call me Kate."

"Kate, thank you. And I'm Mike. Kate, we're just here to find out a little more about Donny and what happened in the Park the other day."

Mike had continued down the short hallway in the direction he assumed was the living room, Steve on his heels. Catherine closed the front door then moved past to lead them a little further down the hall into the sizable but crowded living room on the left. The furniture and much of the hardwood floor was covered with discarded clothes and children's toys; it was obvious that a large and rather boisterous family lived there.

It was Steve who noticed the quiet first. "Are, ah, are the children with your husband…?" He asked hesitantly, noticing Mike cock his head and shoot him an impressed quick grin.

"Um, ah, no," Catherine flustered, crossing to a couch to remove some of the toys and clothes so her guests could sit. "They're with my neighbours. My husband is at the gym. It's the only way he can get out his frustration right now… about Donny, you know…?"

Steve glanced at Mike quickly before nodding. "Yes, yes, of course. It must be very difficult for both of you."

She gestured to the now cleaned-off sofa as she turned to drop the toys and clothes on a large armchair already piled high with clutter. The two officers sat, exchanging a knowing look. Catherine moved a few things aside on the large coffee table in the centre of the room and sat, facing her guests.

Mike smiled warmly as he leaned forward. "Kate, we need to hear from you exactly what happened at the Park that day. Do you mind?"

Wringing her hands slightly, obviously still upset about what was going on, Catherine shook her head. "No, no, of course not. Well, I, ah, I took my two little ones, Marcus and Jennifer – he's 22 months and she's just five months – and Donny, who's three – to the Park for some fresh air."

"And your other two kids were…?" Steve prompted, taking out his notebook and pen.

"Oh, ah, they were with one of my neighbours – the same one who has the kids today. She has three little boys and all the kids love to play together, so my two oldest, a boy and a girl, they all love to play together, you know? They're a little older – six and five, so they like to get away from the 'babies', they call them." She finished with a bit of a laugh, and Mike chuckled with her.

"So anyway, we were just walking through the Park and I began to feel really sick. I got dizzy and thought I was going to throw up and then I just remember these black spots in front of my eyes and I think I fell down… I don't remember. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital."

Mike had frowned, and now leaned even closer. "Did they tell you what it was?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, um, I was diagnosed with mitro valve prolapse." When the older man's eyebrows rose, she smiled, "It means I have a valve in my heart that's a little thicker than normal and it creates a murmur in my heart."

"Is it serious?" Mike asked, concern evident in his tone.

"Well, from what they told me, it's something I've always had and will always have and if I'm careful with my diet and all that, then I should be able to lead a normal life. But it was pretty scary, believe me."

"I bet it was," Mike agreed, glancing at his partner, who nodded.

"So, ah, so it wasn't until you woke up in the hospital that you found out Donny was missing, is that what happened?"

Catherine nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. The Park officials had kept the kids behind when the ambulance took me to the hospital and they'd called John… my husband?" Mike nodded. "And when John got there, they only had Marcus and Jennifer. Donny wasn't with them and nobody remembered seeing him at all."

"And Donny was with you when you collapsed?" Steve asked, making continuous notes.

Catherine turned her head slightly to look at him. "Yes!… Yes, of course he was." She looked back at Mike, an appeal for understanding so obvious in her eyes. "You can find him, can't you? Please… please find him for us. He's such a lovely little boy. He doesn't deserve this."

Mike nodded. "We're going to do our best, Kate, we really are. Lieutenant Jenkins told us that Donny has, ah, developmental problems?"

Catherine nodded enthusiastically. "His mother was a cocaine addict. She left him on his own when he was just two-and-a-half and he ended up wandering down Castro one night in a dirty diaper. That's when they took him away from her. John and I heard about him and just knew we had to get him. We have two adopted kids already, but you know that, right?

"Yes, we do. You're very generous with your love, Kate, and that's something quite rare. Donny was lucky to have found you and your husband."

Under his downturned brow, Steve's eyes slid towards his partner. Though he could tell when Mike was laying it on thick and heavy, most other people couldn't; that's what made him such a remarkable cop.

"So, what problems, exactly, does Donny have?"

"Well, he's not really verbal – he doesn't talk. He makes sounds, you know, to let us know what he wants. And we've become pretty good at figuring out what he wants. He gets along with the other kids extremely well and he's a playful boy. He likes to laugh and when we go to the park, he loves to go on the swings and he just giggles and giggles." Her eyes suddenly went far away and she smiled then bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling.

Mike glanced at his partner. "Well, Kate, I think we have all we need for now. Thank you for answering our questions." He began to stand. Steve snapped his notebook shut, pocketing it as he followed suit.

Catherine got up slowly. "Oh, ah, okay, I hope I was some help."

"Yes," Mike smiled, as he straightened up and glanced around the room once more. "Kate, would you mind if Steve and I have a quick look around the house? It'll just give us a better idea of life in the Beaton household, if you know what I mean, right?"

"Oh, ah, sure, of course." Catherine moved back and gestured towards the hallway. As the cops started out of the room, she instructed, "The kitchen is down the hall to the right."

As they stepped into the bright sunlit kitchen, both pairs of trained eyes fell onto the wall next to the entranceway. There were five doorknob-sized dents about chest high in the drywall. They both knew instantly what they were.

"Ah, Kate," Mike began casually as the young woman entered the kitchen behind them, "what made these holes?"

She looked quickly towards them, her face losing all expression for a brief instant, then she smiled. "Oh, those? My six-year-old likes to throw his toy trucks against the wall. John is going to re-plaster and get this all fixed up."

Mike waited patiently until she finished her explanation. Then he took a step towards her and leaned forward slightly. "Now Kate, you and I both know that's not how those holes were made, don't we? It was John, wasn't it?"

Catherine dropped her gaze; the older cop's blue-eyed stare was unnerving. She took a couple of unsteady breaths then looked back up. "John has a problem controlling his anger. He hits walls," she said quietly, then in a rush, "but he would never hit the kids. Never. I swear… He would never hit one of the kids…"


	3. Chapter 3

The tan sedan pulled to a stop at the curb a half-block away from Newman's Gym on Leavenworth.

"Did you know that Wyatt Earp once refereed a boxing match at the old Mechanic's Pavilion over on Union Square?" Mike asked with a chuckle as he fell into step beside his partner on the sidewalk.

"What?" Steve snorted in surprise as they started down the street, shooting the older man an amazed glance. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope," Mike replied, shaking his head with a grin, "it was back at the end of the last century. It was a 'heavyweight championship bout'," he continued lightly, making quote signs with his fingers. "Both sides didn't trust the other and they couldn't agree on an unbiased referee. So they drafted Earp, who was living here at the time."

" _The_ Wyatt Earp? Gunfight at O.K. Corral Wyatt Earp?"

"The very same. Turned out not to be the most, ah, how shall I say, fortuitous decision of his long and… storied life." They had reached the entrance to the gym and Mike pulled one of the heavy wooden doors open, glancing at his partner with bouncing eyebrows as he gestured the younger man to enter before him. They were immediately assaulted with the strong stench of sweat and liniment.

Looking back, knowing Mike would finish the story when they were through here, Steve chuckled as he led the way down the dark corridor towards the sounds of punches being landed, feet thudding on canvas and shouts of instruction and encouragement.

"You know, I heard that George Foreman and Sonny Liston trained here when they were in town," Steve whispered as they got closer to the main gym.

Mike nodded, starting to fish the leather I.D. case out of his pocket. They approached one of the older men standing near the centre ring, watching two sparring lightweights. "Lieutenant Stone, San Francisco Police," Mike introduced himself quietly then nodded over his shoulder. "Inspector Keller."

Steve flashed his own I.D. and nodded curtly with a tight smile.

"Who's in charge here?" Mike asked, his eyes flicking around the large room, looking for their quarry.

"Oh, ah," the older man growled, his voice low and gravelly, "I guess that'd be Billy, the owner, but he ain't here right now. Somethin' I can do fer ya?"

"Maybe. We're looking for a John Beaton. We hear he comes in pretty regularly. Is he here now?"

"Johnny?" the elderly gym rat retorted, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Sure, Johnny's here a lot. He's a pretty good middleweight. Yeah, he's here. He's in the locker, jus' finished a good workout."

"Where're the locker rooms?" Steve asked.

The older man gestured with his head towards the far end of the cavernous building. "Back there." As the two cops began to move off, he asked, "So what's he done?"

Mike turned back briefly, his quick smile not reaching his eyes. "Hopefully nothing. Thanks for the help."

As they moved between the rings in the direction indicated, Steve touched his partner's arm. "Did you see that?" he nodded at a ring in the far corner. "Women!" They both stopped momentarily and watched as two young women, both built like light middleweights, traded jabs under the discriminating eyes of the gym regulars.

After several seconds, Mike turned to move on, Steve falling into step beside him. "They're pretty good," Mike offered and was rewarded with a snort.

" _Pretty_ good?" the younger man teased, grinning. "I'd like to see you up against them. You'd be flat on your ass in seconds."

"Oh ho, you think so, hunh?" Mike chuckled, sidestepping quickly to elbow his partner, knocking him off balance.

They had reached the locker room door and they both sobered, the reason for their presence flooding back. With a quick breath and tilt of his head, Mike pushed the door open and they stepped into the large, locker-lined, sweat-filled room.

It didn't take long to find John Beaton; he was sitting on a bench in front of an open locker, his hair wet and a white towel wrapped around his waist. Mike took a step forward, holding out his I.D. and badge once more. "John Beaton?"

The well-built younger man looked up. The two detectives noticed the spider-web tattoo on his right shoulder, the eagle head on his left. His dark eyes were hooded, and he didn't smile.

"Yeah, that's me," he exhaled heavily, eyeing the badge then looking up at Mike. He straightened up slightly, his head moving back. "What, did you find my son? Did you find Donny?" There was a sudden urgency in his voice.

Mike put one foot on the bench and leaned forward as he raised a hand. "No no no, we're just here to ask you some questions." He slid the black leather case back into his pants pocket. "I'm Lieutenant Stone, this is Inspector Keller." He gestured slightly over his shoulder at Steve who, leaning with studied casualness against a locker, nodded.

"Why are you here talking to me again?" Beaton spat angrily as he stood and started to take his clothes out of the locker. "Why aren't you out looking for my son?"

Mike, smiling gently, offered calmly, "Well, Missing Persons has their whole team out looking for Donny, as well as a bunch of volunteers. We're just giving the boys a hand, trying to figure out if there's some way we can help, maybe come up with something they missed, that's all."

"Yeah, well, I already told the other cops everything I know. I wasn't with my wife when Donny disappeared; I was here. And I know what you're thinking, but I didn't have anything to do with him disappearing. Why would I?"

"Well, you tell us, Mr. Beaton."

The request obviously threw the young father and he froze, looking from one cop's steely-eyed stare to the other. He seemed to regroup, his tone modulating as he picked up his boxers and slid them on under the towel. "I don't have a reason," he said softly, "I loved Donny. He was a special kid."

"That's what your wife told us," Steve offered softly, hoping to keep the lid on any unnecessary tension.

"So, what _do_ you think happened?" Mike asked gently. "I mean, you and your wife, you aren't exactly rolling in dough now, are you? So that kind of rules out a kidnapping for ransom, doesn't it? So that leaves… what? Someone took him for, ah," he cleared his throat and glanced away, "sexual purposes –" Beaton's head snapped towards him angrily but he continued, his eyes now boring into the young father's, "or maybe you just got tired of having a handicapped kid around?"

Beaton froze, not expecting the last question, and for a split second both cops could see the rage and fear in his unguarded eyes. As they waited, he took a deep, steadying breath and slowly lowered his gaze, trying casually to reach for his jeans with a shaking hand. "I told you, I didn't do anything to my son. I loved him. I didn't care if he had problems; he was a happy kid. He wasn't a burden." As he slowly stepped into the jeans and did them up, he struggled to keep his voice low and calm.

Mike continued to stare, unmoving. After several seconds, he began to straighten up, taking his foot off the bench, nodding with a facial shrug. "All right, Mr. Beaton, I believe you. But answer me this, will ya? What is it that makes you so mad that you put your fist through the walls in your kitchen? Is it the kids – do they drive you nuts after awhile? I mean, come on, five kids all under six? I only have one and she was a handful at times when she was a toddler. And you've got five…"

"I love kids," Beaton said quietly, pulling his polo shirt over his head and sitting down on the bench to put on his socks and shoes.

"You must," Steve offered quietly and the younger man froze for a split second. "But you didn't answer my partner's question. Why the holes in the wall?"

Avoiding the penetrating stares, continuing to dress, Beaton said quietly, "I've been diagnosed with manic depression, they call it. My mother had it. The psychiatrist I see says it's something I have no control over… I take medication for it and it helps… a lot." He looked up at Mike, and the older cop could see the anguish in the brown eyes.

"I take my anger out on walls, Lieutenant, not my kids. I swear. Ask my doctor; he'll tell you. I'm not a violent man."

Mike held his stare for several seconds before he nodded. "Okay, Mr. Beaton, we will, believe me, we will. But for now, well, you could do us a big favor if you could come down to headquarters with us right now."

"What for?"

"Well, as you know, when something like this happens, the parents and family are always the first suspects until we can rule them out. And you'd be doing yourself, and us, a huge service if you would consent to a lie-detector test –"

"What?!" Beaton gasped, standing quickly, his frantic eyes snapping from Mike's to Steve's.

"It's just routine, Mr. Beaton," Mike assured him calmly, both hands up slightly, "we can't use lie detector tests in court, so it's just to help us eliminate people so we can move on." He watched as this new information seemed to sink into the younger man's suddenly frantic brain. "You can help yourself if you agree to do this, John."

The voice was so soothing, and with the use of the first name dropped at just the right time, the young father looked up and nodded.

"All right. Anything for Donny, okay?"

Mike nodded encouragingly and, as Beaton shoved his boxing gear into the locker, turned to Steve and raised his eyebrows, flashing a quick self-congratulatory smile. Steve shook his head in wonder.

# # # # #

They stepped out of the darkened gym into the bright afternoon sunshine, all three squinting in the harsh light. As they started down the street towards the car, Steve glanced over at his partner. "So, what's the end of the Wyatt Earp story?"

Mike shot him a quick confused look then his face brightened. "Oh right," he chuckled. Beaton looked from one cop to the other, confused and suddenly curious.

"Well, turns out, after they disarmed him in the ring – he brought a Colt .45 with him – that the bout was more alley fight than world heavyweight championship. One of the boxers _accidentally_ hit the other guy in the groin. And not once, mind you, twice. Most of the crowd didn't see the second blow, which laid the poor guy out, but Earp did and he stopped the fight and awarded it to the guy who couldn't even get up!

"Anyway, a lot of people lost big money on that fight, and he was vilified in the papers for being in on the fix, and then to top it all off, they fined him for bringing a gun into the ring. Needless to say, his reputation, which was already suffering in the years since that shootout, took another blow and he got outa town. He never came back."

They had reached the car and Mike finished the story overtop of the roof. With a chuckle and shake of his head, Steve got behind the wheel. Mike opened the passenger side back door and gestured for Beaton to precede him into the back seat and slide across to the far side.

# # # # #

His arms crossed, Mike was standing outside the glass-walled interrogation room, staring at Beaton, who was hooked up to the polygraph machine. A technician was sitting opposite him, asking a series of pre-arranged questions and making notes on the graph paper emerging from the large contraption on the desk between them.

Two coffee mugs in hand, Steve approached his partner and held one out. Mike glanced over and took it. "Thanks."

Steve gestured towards Beaton with his chin. "What do you think?"

Mike shrugged before taking a sip of the coffee. "I have no idea. He seems pretty calm. Who knows?"

"Listen, ah, I got a hold of Beaton's psychiatrist. He's agreed to see us in an hour."

"Good, good," Mike said, turning away and starting back across the bullpen towards his own office, Steve in tow. With a weary sigh, he circled his desk and dropped heavily into the chair, Steve settling into the guest chair and crossing his legs.

"Did you notice he said ' _loved'_ and _'was'_ when we were talking about Donny in the gym?" Mike asked quietly, staring at the desktop.

"Yeah. But you know that really doesn't mean anything, people do that all the time. We can't nail him on it."

"Yeah, I know. Still… it's something to grill him about, isn't it?"

"It's a straw at best, right? Anyway, ah, what do you want to do if he passes?"

Mike raised his eyebrows and snorted. "Good question. Say, have you heard from Phil? Anything new from their end?"

Steve shook his head. "Not a thing. He did say if they don't find anything by the end of the day, they're calling off the search."

"Yeah, I can understand that. Three days is a long time to get no results whatsoever."

A sudden presence at the door caught their attention and they both looked up. Bradley Stanton, the polygraph specialist, was standing in the doorway, the paper readout in his hand.

"So?" Mike asked quickly before the bespectacled pencil pusher could utter a word. "What's your professional opinion, Brad?"

Stanton's pale eyes widened and he took the two steps to the corner of the desk, dropping the readout with a flourish. "Well, Mike, you were right – he's lying."


	4. Chapter 4

Beaton looked up as an expressionless Mike opened the door of the interrogation room; their eyes locked and held as the older man pulled out a chair and sat. Steve had followed in his partner's wake, the paper printout in his hand. He closed the door, pulling a third chair away from the wall and setting it beside his still glaring partner then sat, smoothing down his tie and clearing his throat as he did so.

Almost reluctantly, Beaton pulled his eyes away from the older cop's and looked at the inspector. Mike continued to stare. Steve raised his eyes and a dead, almost rictus grin played over his lips.

"So, Mr. Beaton," he began casually, gesturing at the paper read-out now on the table between them, "it seems you haven't been telling us the truth."

"What?" Beaton practically shouted, his almost frantic eyes snapping back and forth between the partners. "No… no, that's wrong. I _have_ been telling the truth. I had _nothing_ to do with Donny's disappearance… _nothing!_ " He pointed at the printout. "That thing's wrong, it's rigged. It has to be!"

"The machine doesn't lie," Mike said quietly, leaning forward, his unblinking stare continuing to unnerve the increasingly distraught man across the table. "People do, but the machine doesn't."

Beaton sat back, breathing heavily, looking down. "It's wrong, it's got to be… I swear, I had _nothing_ to do with it, _nothing…_ You gotta believe me."

A tense silence filled the small room as Beaton fidgeted and Mike continued to glare. Steve glanced at his partner then turned his full attention back to the man opposite them. "Mr. Beaton, is there anything else you'd like to add to what you've told us already?"

Beaton's eyes snapped back and forth between the two cops. "No. No, I told you everything I know already. I don't know what else to say." His gaze settled on Mike. "So, ah, what happens now? Do you arrest me, or what?"

Mike slowly sat back, his intense stare softening, and he blinked several times, almost relaxing. "No, Mr. Beaton," he said quietly, "we're not going to arrest you. Like I said, a lie-detector test cannot be used in a court of law. You're free to go."

Beaton froze. He glanced at Steve quickly then back to Mike. "I can go…?" he asked tentatively.

"Umh-humh," Mike nodded and Steve did the same.

Slowly, almost uncertainly, Beaton got to his feet. As he took a step towards the door, Mike's voice stopped him. "We'll probably be bringing you back in at some point for further questioning, Mr. Beaton, so I want to make sure that you and your wife aren't, ah… entertaining any ideas of leaving town in the next couple of weeks. Am I understood?"

Beaton, at the door, turned back. "Why would we want to leave, Lieutenant? We want our son back," he said calmly and evenly before he opened the door and strode defiantly from the room and across the bullpen.

# # # # #

"So, Doctor, what exactly _is_ manic depression?"

Doctor Isaac Eichhorn leaned back in his large black leather chair and smiled at the two detectives sitting on the other side of the large wooden desk.

"How much time have you got, Lieutenant?" he chuckled as he watched both sets of eyes widen. "I'm pretty sure you're looking for the Reader's Digest version here, am I right?"

"Ah, right," Mike laughed, glancing at Steve, "but can you keep the big words out of it too? He took some psychology courses in university but I'm afraid I never got that privilege." Mike had tilted his head in his partner's direction; Steve grinned in embarrassment at the psychiatrist, knowing how much shrinks disliked being second-guessed.

"I see," Eichhorn said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair but chuckling in appreciation. "Well, gentlemen, what we call manic depression is as different in each individual as you would think. But basically, it is exactly what the name implies – the individual that suffers from it experiences periods of great euphoria, the _manic_ phase, followed by periods of great depression, which is pretty self-explanatory.

"The manic stage, which usually lasts at least a week and sometimes much longer, is characterized by high energy, irritability, inability to focus, agitation, lack of sleep – to name just a few behaviors."

"Doctor, can people in a manic phase… can they snap and commit a crime, an assault or something in that regard?" Mike asked.

Eichhorn smiled briefly. "You're going to ask me if John Beaton is capable of harming his son, aren't you?"

Mike grinned and tilted his head. "Is he?"

Eichhorn's pale grey eyes slid from the senior partner to the junior. "Inspector Keller, you've had some psychology. How would you answer your partner?"

Suddenly in the spotlight, Steve shifted uncomfortably and chuckled dryly, glancing at Mike, who had turned to stare at him with an anticipatory grin. He leaned forward and cleared his throat. "Well, it, ah, it wasn't anything I studied, but from what I've read…" he paused and shot his partner an exasperated glance, "Beaton would have to be pre-disposed to violence, that being in a manic phase wouldn't necessarily exacerbate a tendency towards violence if it wasn't already present."

Mike's eyes widened and he turned to the doctor, his face a question as Steve cleared his throat self-consciously with a nervous chuckle.

Eichhorn smiled broadly. "I couldn't have said it better myself, Inspector. Well done."

Steve inclined his head in appreciation then turned smugly towards his partner, who was clapping quietly. Then with a wide grin, Mike shifted his attention back to the psychiatrist. "So, if I understand all that correctly, Beaton would have to have violent tendencies already, that his… illness wouldn't provoke it. Am I right?"

Eichhorn nodded. "That's exactly right."

"So, Doc, you've been treating Beaton for several years now, is that correct?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"Any indications that he has a violent streak? Or that he can explode in an uncontrolled rage? Because, well, we found some holes in the drywall in his kitchen and he told us he sometimes loses control and punches a wall. Is that a normal reaction?"

Frowning, Eichhorn sat forward in his chair and rested his forearms on the desk. "I had no idea he was doing that; he's never mentioned it to me. To be perfectly honest, before you told me that just now, I would have said that John Beaton is one of the most non-violent patients I have ever worked with."

Mike sat back and shot a frown towards his partner. Steve could tell that wasn't the answer Mike had been hoping for.

"So in all the years you've been treating him, there's never been the slightest inclination that Beaton could fly off the handle and become physical, not in any way?"

Eichhorn shook his head. "Sorry, Lieutenant, if there was, I'd tell you, believe me. Patient confidentiality or no, I wouldn't hide something that potentially harmful from either the patient's family, nor the authorities. There's too much at stake here, especially as Beaton is father to five now."

With a heavy sigh, Mike began to get to his feet. Steve was watching him closely. Mike held out his right hand. "Thank you, Doctor Eichhorn, I appreciate your candor."

"Not at all, Lieutenant," the gray-haired psychiatrist responded quietly, shaking the proffered hand. "I wish I could be of more help; I know the search for their son is getting pretty desperate right now. I hope you find him soon."

"So do we, Doc, so do we." Mike turned to the door and Steve stepped forward to shake the doctor's hand as well.

"You paid attention in class," Eichhorn said with a chuckle, "I'm impressed."

Steve grinned. "I stayed awake… I guess more of it sank in than I thought."

"Come on, Professor Keller," Mike enjoined with a gentle laugh from the doorway, "we've gotta get back to work. Thanks again, Doc."

# # # # #

Steve slammed the driver's side door and slid the key into the ignition. He glanced across the front seat. Mike had loosened his tie and undid his collar button and was now rubbing both hands over his face.

"Look, ah," the younger man said, "I think we've done enough today. It's almost five. Why don't I drop you off home and you can get yourself something to eat and go to bed early tonight and we can start fresh in the morning?" He tensed, expecting an angry retort. And not to disappoint, Mike's head turned swiftly in his direction.

But there were no words of irritation spewing forth. Instead, Mike stared at him for several seconds then nodded slightly. "You're right. I'm sorry, buddy boy, I know we were gonna take a couple of days off. I just, ah, well, when Phil told us –"

"You don't have to apologize, Mike," Steve cut him off. "Are you kidding? If you hadn't told Phil we were in, I'd've done it for you."

Mike stared at him in appreciation then snorted and smiled, lowering his eyes. "Thanks." He slumped in the seat, looking through the windshield.

"This is really getting under your skin, isn't it?"

The older man nodded.

"Why?" Steve asked softly.

Mike shook his head slowly with a slight shrug. "I don't know… I really don't. We've both had cases involving kids before, and I've had quite a few of them over the years… hell, one of my first was a two-year-old that was starved to death by her heroin-addicted mother… but, I don't know, this one just feels different… and I don't know why…"

"And you know he's dead?" Another whispered question.

Another slow nod. "Oh, yeah, he's dead. And I'm not gonna stop until I find out which one of them killed him, and why… and where he is… That little boy is gonna get a proper burial, if it's the last thing I ever do…"

Steve stared at his partner's profile, at the determination etched into every line of the familiar face, at the resolve in the clench of his jaw.

He smiled to himself as he started the engine and shifted the large sedan into Drive.

# # # # #

Mike jogged down the concrete steps in front of his house and across the sidewalk, grabbing the car door that Steve had started to push open. As he got in quickly and reached back for the door, he barked, "Get over to Newman's Gym."

"What?" Steve asked, glancing in the rearview and sideview mirrors as he slid the sedan back into Drive and started to pull away from the curb. "Don't you want to go to the office first?"

"No," Mike said curtly as he did up his collar button and tightened his tie. "It came to me this morning over coffee… should've thought of it yesterday but I guess I'm working on only two cylinders right now. Who's Beaton's sparring partner?"

"What?" Steve asked again, glancing across the front seat, only slightly surprised to see his partner so animated.

"Who's his sparring partner?" Mike repeated, and the younger man realized it was a rhetorical question. "I mean, if he spends so much time at the gym, in the ring, he probably has a regular sparring partner. And someone you spend that much time with, throwing punches at, would know whether someone like Beaton could have a tipping point and get violent, wouldn't he?"

Steve was nodding with a facial shrug. "That's pretty good, Lieutenant. See what a good night's sleep'll do…?" he chuckled.

"Just drive, will ya, just drive." Mike pointed through the windshield with a warm grin.

# # # # #

Mike banged once more on the heavy wooden door with the palm of his open hand. Steve looked up and down the almost deserted street. "Mike, it's not even seven yet. There's probably nobody here. Let's come back."

"No, there'll be someone inside, cleaning up, getting stuff ready for the day." He pounded on the door again.

Steve was about to open his mouth to protest once more when the tumblers in the lock clicked and the door swung open. Mike flashed a triumphant grin his way before taking out his badge and holding it up.

"I'm Lieutenant Stone and this is Inspector Keller," he informed the tall elderly black man who stared at them wide-eyed. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind?"

Inclining his head, the old man took a step back. "Not at all, not at all, come on in," he said amiably as he held the door for the two detectives to enter then closed it in their wake. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"You are…?" Mike prompted with a friendly smile.

"John Powell," the old man said, holding out his hand. "I'm the janitor here."

Mike shook his hand, tilting his head. "John _Houston_ Powell?" he asked, a knowing grin starting to curl his lips.

Powell's head went back slightly. "Yeah, that's me," he said with a touch of pride in his deep voice.

Staring into Powell's eyes and continuing to shake his hand, Mike said to his partner, "Steve, I would like the honor of introducing you to Mr. John Houston Powell, a contender for the world heavyweight championship back in, oh, '57, '58…?" Powell beamed and nodded. "And the best damn heavyweight boxer San Francisco ever produced." There was no mistaking the admiration in his voice.

Mike took a step back and Steve moved forward, tossing an affectionate glance in his partner's direction before shaking Powell's hand. "Mr. Powell, it's a pleasure."

Powell laughed gratefully as he took the younger man's hand in both his own. "My, my, my, not too many people remember me nowadays, I gotta tell ya…" His dancing eyes slid back to Mike.

"Are you kidding? I saw you fight a couple of times; you were amazing."

Grinning, Powell looked down. "So, ah, so what can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"Well," Mike said, regaining his professional composure with an almost embarrassed chuckle, "Mr. Powell, we're hoping you can give us some information about John Beaton."


	5. Chapter 5

**Many thanks to those who are reading, and those reviewing. I know it may be a difficult subject for some people, but it's a story I want to get out there and hopefully entertain at the same time.**

"Johnny? Now what you want to know about Johnny for?" Powell asked, his voice almost a high whine as he led the two detectives through the darkened gym towards his 'office'.

"Just some routine questions, Mr. Powell," Mike said pleasantly as he followed the tall, heavyset man.

"Ain't he the guy whose kid's gone missin'?" Powell asked as he stepped aside at the door for his guests to enter the cramped storage room, janitorial supplies stacked against the far wall. There were several wooden chairs in various states of disrepair pulled into a makeshift circle at the centre of the small room.

Eyeing the chairs and opting to stay on his feet, Mike crossed the room then turned back to face their host, who had moved to one of the sturdier-looking chairs and sat. Steve leaned casually against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

Sitting on the edge of the small wooden desk, Mike smiled engagingly. "Mr. Powell, we just want to know… well, we heard John Beaton spends a lot of time here, and I sort of figured he probably spars with one or two of the regulars, you know. We'd just like to talk to his sparring partners, just to get a, well, a feeling about what John Beaton is like here as opposed to what he's like at home with his family. That's all."

Without expression, Powell looked slowly from Mike to Steve. " _Is_ that all?"

Raising his eyebrows and nodding, Steve smiled. "That's all."

"Well, hell, that's not a problem. Let's see, Johnny, he likes to go a few rounds with Jesus when he's available – he's one hell of a middleweight, may even get a shot at the title one day." He punctuated his prediction with a nod at Mike, who returned it; Steve hid his smile behind a hand to his chin before taking out his notebook and pen.

"But Jesus ain't around all that much, he's been spending a lot of time in Vegas lately – at Johnny Tocco's. Let's see, oh yeah, Paddy McKenna's another one of Johnny's sparring partners. He's a journeyman but he gives Johnny a real workout. You might wanna talk to him. He'll be in later this afternoon; he ain't got nothin' better to do, you know what I mean?"

With a broad smile, Mike pushed himself away from the desk and stepped closer to Powell, extending his hand. "Thank you very much, Mr. Powell, that's all we need to know." He joined his partner at the door as Steve snapped the notebook shut and put it in his jacket pocket.

"We'll let you get back to your work."

As they turned to leave, Powell's voice stopped them. "Wait a minute, don't you want to know about that lady boxer he spars with?"

Both detectives stopped in their tracks, hesitating only briefly before taking a step back and turning once more to face the room. "Excuse me?" Steve asked, not really believing what they had just heard.

"Yeah," Powell said, meeting their baffled stares evenly, "he spars with one of the lady boxers pretty near two, three times a week. She sure gives him a rough time, I tell you," he finished with a chuckle.

"And, ah, and what would this lady boxer's name be?" Steve asked carefully, slipping the notebook back out of his pocket and snapping the finial on his ballpoint pen.

# # # # #

Both car doors closed simultaneously and both detectives sat in silence for several long seconds. Finally Steve looked across the front seat. "So, ah, what do you think?"

Mike glanced over, a tiny smile playing at his lips. "Oh, you heard Mr. Powell – Johnny just likes to get a good workout and she gives him one."

"Yeah, of course," Steve agreed facetiously, "she gives him a good workout… in the gym…" He paused. "So do you think… that…?"

"Of course I think that!" Mike snapped then snorted and dropped his head into his hands. "Sorry, buddy boy, obviously a good night's sleep hasn't improved my mood any."

"Don't worry about it," the younger man said softly. "So, ah, how do you want to handle this?"

"Well, I definitely want to talk to her before we talk to him again. And let's have a talk with that, oh ah, that Irish boxer he spars with, what's his name?"

"McKenna."

"Yeah, him. Let's come back later this afternoon and see if we can catch both of 'em. And if Beaton sees us doing it, so much the better. He may start to come unglued."

Steve put the key in the ignition and started the engine. "What do you want to do till then?"

"Let's get back to the shop. I want to get in touch with the caseworker for Children's Services and see what they can tell us about life in the Beaton household."

# # # # #

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I was surprised when they allowed Donny into the Beaton house, seeing as the father doesn't have a full-time job or anything like that. But since I took over the Beaton file four months ago, I realized that they are exemplary parents. There have been no complaints against him, or her for that matter, from anyone at anytime."

Mrs. Ledbetter smiled at the two detectives sitting across her desk, her eyes sparkling behind the gold-framed granny glasses.

"And you visit their house on a regular basis?" Mike asked.

"Well, maybe not as often as I'd like," the middle-aged woman admitted, "but certainly as often as my job demands. We all have such heavy caseloads now. Things don't seem to be getting any better in the child care area, that's for sure."

Both cops nodded sympathetically.

"So when was the last time you saw Donny Tyler?" Steve asked, his right hand poised above his notebook, pen in hand, ready to take another note.

Mrs. Ledbetter checked the file on the desk before her. "Let's see. Oh yes, I was at the Beaton house three weeks ago." She closed the file and stared at them.

Both cops smiled then Mike cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly. "Ah, that's not what he asked you, Mrs. Ledbetter. He asked when was the last time you saw Donny Tyler?" At her confused gape, he elaborated. "When, precisely, was the last time you _saw_ Donny Tyler? Was it three weeks ago?"

The woman flustered, her fingers worrying a corner of the file folder before her. "Well, ah, no, not during that visit. His mother told me he was sick and that she'd just managed to get him to sleep. He'd been vomiting. She thought it was a stomach bug he'd picked up; the other kids had had it as well." When both men continued to stare at her without uttering a word, she continued in a rush, "I had no reason not to believe her. She's a very reliable young woman, and she didn't seem at all upset. She was very relaxed, and maybe a bit tired. You know how it is having a sick kid?" She directed the last question to Mike, who didn't respond. "I trusted her…" she finished lamely, her eyes flicking from one detective to the other.

"So when was the last time you actually set eyes on Donny Tyler?" Steve asked again, his voice low and encouraging.

Trying to control her now obviously shaking hands, Mrs. Ledbetter reopened the file and rifled through the pages. "Um, that would be on August 20th."

"Almost seven weeks ago," Mike said quietly, continuing to stare at the woman who was now so desperately trying to avoid his eyes. "Aren't caseworkers supposed to visit the children under their watch at least once a month?"

"Yes," she said quietly, swallowing heavily.

"And you haven't seen Donny Tyler in over six weeks?"

"No, ah, no, I guess I haven't," she began slowly, then continued in a rush, "but I had no reason to think the boy was in any danger. They're a good family."

Mike began to stand. "I hope you're right, Mrs. Ledbetter, but right now that little boy is missing and nobody seems to have any idea what happened to him." He put his fedora on as Steve joined him at the door. With one final look back, he added, "Let's just hope for everybody's sake that we find Donny Tyler alive and well."

Without another word, he turned and strode angrily from the office. The look Steve shot her before he followed pinned her to the chair. When they were gone, she looked down at the file on her desk and a strangled sob escaped her lips.

# # # # #

"Okay, so, are you ready to hear about our lady of the flying fists, Eugenia Rose Alvarez?"

Mike looked up over his glasses as Steve entered the inner office, a raft of papers in hand, and dropped into the guest chair with a frown. "Eugenia Rose Alvarez? That's quite the moniker for a pugilist." He took off his glasses and tossed them on the desk, sitting back and stretching his back muscles. "Shoot."

Steve glanced up with a mischievous grin on his face. "I think you're gonna like this." Mike's brow furrowed. "So, Rosie, as she likes to be called, doesn't have a rap sheet, per se, although there is one arrest that was dismissed – 'cannabis possession'." He raised his eyebrows and grinned; Mike rolled his eyes. "But she does have a very interesting background. Alvarez is her married name; her maiden name is Moreno. She's was born here in The City in 1948, which makes her 26. In 1969, she married Jose Manuel Alvarez –"

"So she's a married lady…" Mike interjected and Steve nodded.

"She is, _and_ they have three children. A busy married lady." Mike's eyebrows rose and Steve smiled. "She and her loving husband, Mr. Alvarez, are estranged, and have been for almost a year. Rosie lives with her mother, who looks after the kids when she's off getting her jollies at the gym."

"Hmmm, interesting…." Mike murmured as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

"It gets better. Mr. Alvarez does have a rap sheet, for possession and… hunh…" He looked up and met Mike's concerned stare. "…and for assault. Bar fight. And it turns out he's a serial adulterer. Started fooling around on his… loving wife about four months after they got married, when she was six months pregnant."

"Ah ha," Mike intoned dryly, "shotgun wedding."

With a chuckle and a nod, Steve continued, "I'll say. Anyway, she kicked him out of the house and I have no idea, nor does anyone else, where Mr. Alvarez is currently residing. I have an APB out."

"Good. So, do you think the 'lady with the great left hook' is having a… relationship with our Mr. Beaton?" Mike asked facetiously and Steve shrugged.

"Well, I wouldn't put it past either of them, would you?"

Mike shook his head then raised his hands and rubbed them over his face. "Great, just great, we now have _more_ suspects to eliminate." He sighed heavily and looked at his partner. "But I still haven't got a handle on why. Why little Donny Tyler? What threat could that poor kid have posed to any of them? He couldn't even talk, for god's sake."

Steve shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine. Let's just hope we're wrong about this, right?" He began to stand.

"You got that right. Hey, why don't we go out for a bite of lunch and then head over to the gym. I don't think I want to face that lady boxer and the 'Irish journeyman' on an empty stomach, do you?"


	6. Chapter 6

"You know what I've been thinking?" Steve proposed as he swallowed the last bite of his sandwich, reaching for the bottle of Coke on the wooden table. "I've been wondering why Kate Beaton took her kids to Golden Gate Park? I mean, it's not her local park, now is it? It's gotta be a haul getting three little kids all the way out there on a bus, right?"

Mike had stopped chewing and was staring at him expressionlessly. "What are you driving at?"

With a soft snort and a small smile, Steve tilted his head. "I'm just saying, Mike, what if she made the trip all the way to Golden Gate for a couple of reasons – one, it's a big park and it's easy for a kid to get 'lost' there…" He paused and his eyes bored into his partner's. "And if she's not a regular there, nobody knows her or her kids, and nobody would probably notice if she brought three or just _two_ kids into the park with her." He waited as Mike continued to stare at him. "So, what do you think?"

"I think we have to find time to get out to Golden Gate Park and start looking for some moms and their kids that are regulars. Test out this little theory of yours."

Steve grinned. "So, you like it?"

Mike steely-eyed stare morphed slowly into a heavy-lidded smirk and he chuckled. "You're just a compliment whore, aren't you?"

"What?" Steve exclaimed through a short, sharp chortle, sitting back with raised eyebrows.

" _Do you like it?"_ Mike mimicked, shaking his head, then he laughed and Steve joined him. "Actually," he continued after several jocular seconds, "that's a very good observation. Never even crossed my mind. I'm sure glad there are two of us working on this, buddy boy." He smiled across the table affectionately and Steve glanced away, self-conscious.

"So, ah, so what do you want to do about it?" the younger man asked as he looked towards the waitress and gestured for the bill.

Mike glanced at his watch. "What time was the call made for the ambulance for Kate Beaton, do you remember? Around eleven, wasn't it?"

Steve nodded with a facial shrug as the waitress started towards their table. "Yeah, I think it was about then, yeah."

"Well then we gotta show up just before eleven. If we want to catch the regulars that were there at the same time, then _we've_ gotta be there at the same time. So I guess we're going tomorrow morning, weather permitting. And get in touch with Jenkins, will ya? Get a list of the people they already interviewed and we'll track them down too. And find out what park she usually goes to – I want to talk to the regulars there as well, see what they have to say. Gonna be a busy day tomorrow."

The waitress had reached the table and, with a lascivious smile at the younger man, put the handwritten bill down then turned away with a sultry backward glance. Steve watched her go then reached for the bill but it was snatched from beneath his hand before he could pick it up.

"On me, buddy boy," Mike said with a grin as he got to his feet, reaching for the wallet in his right front pants pocket. "I gotta reward you in some way for all those gold star ideas you keep coming up with."

# # # # #

"That's her over there, and McKenna's in the ring in the far corner. I don't see Beaton, do you?"

Mike scanned the cavernous gym once more. "Nope. Part of me is glad he's not here and the other part wishes he was. So," he said with a smile as he focused on his partner once more, "let me guess, you want to interview the 'lady with the long reach', am I right?"

"Well, you know, you have such an affinity with the Irish, so…" Steve shrugged, bobbing his head.

"Yeah, right. Okay, you know what to ask her, right? So go on. I'll see what I can get from the 'journeyman'." As Steve moved away, Mike grabbed his arm. "Do me a favour, will ya? Try not to ask her out on a date. She's married, remember?"

With a sardonic smirk and low chuckle, Steve pulled his arm away, straightened his tie and started across the gym. Laughing affectionately, Mike watched him go, then turned his attention to the small ring at the far side where Paddy McKenna was trading punches with an energetic young black fighter. With a discerning and appreciative eye, he slowly crossed the large room.

Eugenia Rose Alvarez was sitting on a bench, wrapping her left hand with boxing tape. Steve could tell she had done it many times before; her practiced ease was a pleasure to watch. He fished his badge out of his pocket as he approached and flipped it open. "Rosie Alvarez?" he asked, hoping that by using her preferred nickname he could disarm her from the outset.

It didn't work. She froze, turning slowly and getting to her feet, staring at him grimly from under a lowered brow. She ripped the tape, tossing the roll onto a towel on the bench and smoothing the loose end around her hand, all without looking. He actually hesitated slightly before stepping closer.

"Who's asking?"

Steve held up his badge. "Inspector Keller, San Francisco Police. I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

She continued to study him. "Depends on the questions."

"All right," Steve grinned, closing the leather case and slipping it back into his pocket. "I hear you spar a couple of times a week with John Beaton. Is that right?"

She moved slightly, almost a fidget, and blinked before answering, "I do. What's that to you?"

"Well, you've heard, I'm sure, that one of his kids has gone missing. Am I right?"

"Yeah… so? What's that got to do with me?"

"Well, ah," Steve said slowly and calmly, not wanting to irritate her anymore than she already was; it was a technique he had learned from Mike, and he had been a good student. "Well, I was just wondering if maybe, oh I don't know, maybe he'd talked to you about it?"

"Yeah, well, I haven't seen him since the kid disappeared."

"But he's been in here since then, hasn't he?"

"I guess. I don't know. I'm not his mother… or his wife. You got that?"

"Yes, ma'am," Steve replied with a disarming smile. "Can I ask you one other thing?"

She had turned back to the bench and picked up a boxing glove. "Yeah, what's that?"

"Have, ah, have you ever seen John lose his temper, in the ring here or, ah, or outside it?"

She froze and turned to him stiffly. "No," she answered simply. "Anything else?"

"No. No, thank you," Steve said with a smile, nodding once and taking a step back before he turned and started back across the gym, scanning the room for his partner. Mike was still talking to McKenna, so he lingered near the centre ring and watched the action.

A couple of minutes later, he felt his partner's presence behind him.

"Anything interesting?" the familiar voice floated over his shoulder and he turned with a cautious smile.

"Could be," Steve said quietly and nodded towards the outer door. "You?"

Making a facial shrug, Mike shook his head. "Nah. McKenna just spars with him, doesn't really know him. Says he's never seen Beaton lose his temper, in the ring or the locker room. So, no help there."

They had reached the outer door and Steve pulled it open, and again they exited squinting into the bright afternoon sunshine. "So?" Mike asked, turning to look at his young partner. "What's going on with our Mrs. Alvarez?"

Steve looked quickly up and down the street as he took his dark glasses out of his jacket pocket and put them on. "They're having an affair," he said quietly, leaning slightly towards the older man.

Mike jerked back sharply. "What? How do you know that? You only talked to her for a couple of minutes… if that. Did she tell you that?"

"No, of course not," Steve almost whined, "but you've always told me to listen to my gut, right?"

"Yeah," Mike nodded thoughtfully, "and your gut is telling you they're doing more than just trading…. blows in the ring…?" His voice trailed off almost embarrassedly.

Steve stared at him with raised eyebrows, surprised but charmed at the older man's choice of words. He touched Mike's forearm gently and leaned in again. "I'd bet the farm on it, if I owned a farm." With a short laugh, he turned and headed towards the car.

Mike watched him go, then followed in his wake, shaking his head. "So, ah, so you know who we have to talk to now, don't ya?" From the driver's side of the tan sedan, Steve looked a question over the roof. "Her mother," Mike elaborated as he opened the passenger side door. "She's supposed to be living with her mother, right? Well, let's see if she is. You got the address?"

"Yeah, I got it," Steve answered as he slid in behind the wheel, slipping the notebook out of his pocket and rifling through the pages.

# # # # #

A striking middle-aged Hispanic woman opened the door and smiled broadly at the two men in suits standing on her stoop. Holding out his I.D. and badge, Mike introduced them pleasantly with a warm grin.

Her forehead furrowed in a confused frown. "Si, what can I do for you gentlemen?" she asked in precise, accented English.

"Well, we'd just like to ask you a couple of questions about your daughter Eugenia, if that's all right with you?"

"Rosie?"

"Yes, Rosie, I guess she likes to be called. Do you mind if we come in?" Mike gestured inside and after a moment's fluster, Mrs. Moreno opened the door wider and they stepped in. The foyer was spacious and as she showed no indication of letting them any further into the house, Steve stepped aside to let her shut the door.

"What would you like to know about my Rosie?" she asked, the frown still evident.

"Well, we know your daughter likes to work out at Newman's Gym – I've seen her spar, by the way," Mike said conversationally, "and she's really good. She obviously has a lot of talent. Did she inherit that from her father?"

Knowing Mike now had the woman's complete attention, Steve took the opportunity to look around as best he could. There was a stack of children's boots, shoes and jackets on the floor and hanging on knobs on the wall near the door, evidence of the Moreno grandchildren. But he didn't see any footwear or clothing indicative of a twenty-something female.

"Well, Rosie didn't really know her father; he left us when she was only two. But yes, he was a boxer. A middleweight. He was very good, but he liked his mezcal too much, if you know what I mean? I had to kick him out."

"So you raised Rosie alone? I know what that's like, Mrs. Moreno, it's not easy."

Steve saw the woman's frown soften into sympathy and he swallowed a smile. Mike had her hook, line and sinker.

"Mrs. Moreno," Mike continued smoothly, "does Rosie have a boyfriend that you know of, someone she's been seeing recently?"

"Why, is there something wrong?" An anxiousness had crept into her tone and her eyes snapped from one detective to the other.

Steve shook his head as Mike intoned quickly, "No no no, we just want to know how well she knows a John Beaton; he's one of the boxers she spars with at the gym. Do you know Mr. Beaton?"

Mrs. Moreno hesitated, her eyes continuing to dart back and forth, and she swallowed heavily. "No," she said haltingly, "I have never heard of a Mr. Beaton."

Taking a deep breath, Mike glanced at his partner, and the woman knew instantly she had made a mistake.

"Come now, Mrs. Moreno, you've met Mr. Beaton, haven't you?" She swallowed heavily again. "Now we know that you have, so you might as well tell us. It'll make things easier for everyone."

Her eyes dropped to the floor and she took a deep breath, then looked up. "Mr. Beaton came to live with us about two months ago. He had left his wife. She begged him to come back to her, but he told her he would do that only if he could bring Rosie with him…"

Her voice trailed off as she continued to stare at the floor. Mike and Steve exchanged a wide-eyed look then Mike leaned towards the obviously distraught woman and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Mrs. Moreno, are you telling us that you are looking after Rosie's children here by yourself, while Rosie has moved in with John Beaton and his wife?"

She closed her eyes and nodded, taking a shuddering breath, tears beading on her eyelashes.


	7. Chapter 7

"Well, I didn't see that coming, did you?" Steve glanced across the front seat at his partner, who was staring blankly through the windshield.

Mike took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "Nope, I was not expecting that." He looked over. "So I'm guessing one of our next moves is to get both of _our lovely ladies_ in for a polygraph. I want to shake 'em up. I know tough girl Rosie puts on an intimidating front, but maybe being hooked up to a lie detector might loosen her tongue a little."

"And the wife?"

Mike shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe with a wire wrapped around her chest, she'll start remembering some things about the day Donny disappeared as well. But before we do that, I want as much information on both of them as we can get, so let's spend tomorrow canvassing the parks and get a timeline of sorts nailed down. And we'll need to go back to the gym and do more interviews there. I want to have as much ammunition as we can get before we call 'em in because I want to nail 'em all to the wall."

Steve stared at his partner, a little surprised at the vehemence that had begun to creep into his voice, the result, he knew, of a mounting frustration and an almost overwhelming sense of impending doom.

" _Inspectors Eight-one, please respond, Inspectors Eight-one."_

Mike snagged the hand mic from the police radio as Steve put the key in the ignition and started the car. "Inspectors Eight-one, go ahead."

" _Lieutenant Jenkins requests your 10-20 back at Headquarters."_

Mike glanced at Steve, who nodded and shifted into Drive. "Tell Lieutenant Jenkins we're on our way."

# # # # #

"What's up, Phil?" Mike asked as they entered the Missing Persons bureau, crossing to where the lieutenant and several others were huddled around a desk.

"Oh, Mike, Steve, glad you could join us." The group exchanged nods.

"Still no news about Donny Tyler, just so you know right off the top, but his mother just got through giving an interview on KGO. We recorded it. Want to see it?"

"Sure do," said Mike as he tossed his hat on the desk, pulled out a chair and sat.

As a young officer rewound the videotape, Jenkins asked. "So, ah, how are things going on your end? Any leads?"

Mike glanced at his partner, who took a deep breath and smiled raggedly. "Phil, you have no idea. We don't want to tip our hand right yet in case we're wrong, but we should have something concrete to tell you about after tomorrow, if we're lucky."

Jenkins furrowed brow shifted from one homicide partner to the other. "Okay," he said slowly, "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"We're not sure either," Mike said wearily.

# # # # #

"Man, you gotta admit, she's a frosty piece of work, isn't she?" Steve ruminated as he swung the large sedan from Brannon onto 8th on the way to Potrero. The late evening traffic was sparse. "There she is, standing with her husband and her other four kids in front of the camera, crying like she means it. You almost want to believe her. And he's looking like he's lost the most important thing in his life. And they're both covering up the fact that _his_ girlfriend has moved in with them in some kind of sick… triangle."

Mike chuckled dryly, shaking his head. He was still having trouble wrapping his head around their latest discovery. "I tell you, Steve, I'd thought I'd seen _everything_ but this? This is adding a brand new chapter to that 'autobiography' you keep telling me to think about. _'The Weird and Baffling Cases of Mike Stone, San Francisco Police Detective.'_ "

His chuckle turned into a belly laugh, and his partner joined in; a much needed reprieve from the ominous revelations of the day.

Steve had swung the car onto De Haro and barreled up the street, stopping in front of Mike's house.

"Try to get a good night's sleep, buddy boy, 'cause I have a feeling it's going to be a very long and disturbing day tomorrow." Mike reached across the front seat and slapped the younger man's forearm before opening the passenger side door and getting out. He leaned back in. "We did good today, we really did. I think we're finally starting to make some progress."

Steve nodded. "You make sure to get some sleep too, all right?" He smiled warmly and Mike chuckled.

"I promise, Jeannie," the older man grinned as he slammed the door and started towards the concrete steps. For some reason they seemed steeper and higher tonight, and he could find none of his usual vigor; he took them one at a time and with each one he thought of a mute three-year-old boy whom no one seemed to really care about.

# # # # #

Mike was standing on the sidewalk when the tan sedan slid quietly to a stop before him. Steve glanced at his watch as his partner opened the passenger side door and got in quickly. "I'm not late, am I?"

"No no no," Mike assured him as he slammed the door and got himself settled. "I couldn't sleep, too much going through my mind. It's going to be a long day, my friend."

Nodding in agreement, Steve pulled the unmarked police car away from the curb. "So, you have any idea how you want to divide up the day?" he asked, knowing it was, essentially, a rhetorical question.

Mike shot him a look, knowing he was being baited. His grin reached his eyes but he shrugged off his biting retort. "Yes, I do," he said smugly instead, chuckling once more. "We're gonna split up. Drop me off at the Hall first then I want you to head over to Golden Gate Park, talk to everyone that works at the Park who was there that day and also try to find out if our Mrs. Beaton and her kids were frequent visitors, and then wait for the regulars to show up. Then I want you to go back to the gym and pinhole everyone you can find about what they know about Beaton and Alvarez."

"You want me to be circumspect about that?"

"No no no," Mike admonished, shaking his head vigorously, "if Beaton or Alvarez see you there, so much the better. I want 'em to sweat. I want 'em to start questioning just how much we know. It'll hopefully start to rattle their cages a little bit – and believe me, their cages need some serious rattling."

Nodding, Steve pretended to frown in concern. "So, ah, so if I'm doing all this, ah, just what are _you_ gonna do?"

"Me?" Mike asked innocently, knowing what Steve was insinuating. "I'm gonna canvas the Beaton's neighborhood, talk to neighbors, find out what parks she usually goes to and talk to everybody I can buttonhole. I'll meet you at the gym later this afternoon and we both finish up there. Compare notes."

Steve had continued nodding, a slow smile started to light his face. "So, that's _all_ we're doing today? We're not trying to solve the Zodiac case or The Doodler…. we're just, oh I don't know, interviewing the entire city today…?"

Mike had frozen and shot the younger man a faux peeved look. "I can get you to type up the reports as well, if you don't think you've got enough on your plate right now –"

"No no no, Lieutenant," Steve interrupted with a laugh, "I'll be quite full enough with what I have, thank you very much." He shot an affectionate look at his partner as he turned the car onto Bryant, grateful that the older man was in a better frame of mind this morning.

But he knew things would get a lot worse before they got better. And a nagging prickle of fear began to build in the back of his mind: when all this finally came to a head, he really had no idea how Mike was going to react. As well as he knew his partner, this was new territory. He could only hope that when this was finally resolved, however it turned out, more than just their partnership would survive.

# # # # #

"No, I haven't seen Kate for over a week. Have you seen her, Bec?" the young blonde, one eye on her toddler and one on the tall detective standing before her, called over her shoulder.

"Who? Kate?" the redhead pushing a small giggling girl on a swing shouted back. "No, I don't think – wait a minute, it was last Tuesday, wasn't it? A week Tuesday? Remember she said they were going away?"

"Going away?" Mike echoed as he broke away from the blonde and moved closer to the swings. "Going away where, do you know?"

The redhead looked towards the blonde, eyebrows raised, and shook her head slowly. "No, I don't…."

"Wait a sec, didn't she mention something about a family reunion?"

"Oh yeah, that was it. A family reunion."

"A reunion?" Mike slid the notebook and ballpoint from his jacket pocket, flipping the book open. "Do you remember where or when exactly?"

"Ooo, jeez, I wish I did, I wasn't paying much attention, sorry. But hey, Jenna talks to her more than we do."

"Jenna? Which one is Jenna?"

The blonde looked around the small park. "She's not here right now, but she should be here shortly. She never misses a chance to get out of the house – she has three, all under four, and this is the only chance she has to get out of the house and have a smoke and talk to adults, you know what I mean?"

Chuckling, Mike nodded. "I sure do – well, except about the smoking part. What's Jenna's full name, do you know?"

# # # # #

"Well, I work the morning shift, and my route takes me past the kid's playground on a fairly routine basis every day. I have a nodding acquaintance with most of regulars, I guess you could say." The genial heavy-set Park worker was leaning against the dull brown pick-up truck.

"And you were on duty the day that little boy went missing?"

"Yes, sir. Wow, that was quite the day. A lot of excitement, let me tell you, but not the kind you want, if you know what I mean. And they still haven't found that little kid, have they?" He sounded genuinely concerned.

"No, sir, they haven't," Steve nodded sadly. "We're still looking. That's why I need you to tell me, this lady here," he held out the DMV photo of Catherine Beaton, "do you remember seeing this lady here with two or three kids at any time before the day that little boy went missing?"

The Park worker took the photo and studied it closely. "Hey, this is the lady whose kid it was, isn't it? I saw her on the TV last night. She looked pretty upset."

Trying not to sigh in frustration, Steve nodded, "Yes, that's her. Now do you remember seeing her with her kids in the park here anytime before that day? It's really important."

Frowning, the Park worker handed the photo back, his brow furrowed. Then he shook his head. "Nope. She's definitely not one of the regulars, and I don't remember ever seeing her until that day." He smiled. "I hope that helps."

# # # # #

"Here she comes." The young blonde pointed down the street and Mike followed her gesture. A slightly overweight brunette, with one kid on a tricycle and two sitting in a Radio Flyer she was pulling, was coming down the street towards the park. "That's Jenna."

Smiling, Mike snapped the notebook closed and slipped it back into his pocket then held out his right hand for her to shake. "Thanks very much, Mrs. Fisher, you've been a big help."

"You're welcome, Lieutenant, and I sure hope you guys can find that little boy. Donny is such a sweet kid, I can't imagine anyone wanting to harm him."

"We can't either," Mike said softly, nodding with a tip of his hat as he moved towards the new arrival. "Mrs. Carson?" he asked as he approached.

Jenna Carson turned strikingly pale blue eyes and a wide, friendly grin in his direction. "Yeah, that's me, what can I do for you?"

Mike flashed his badge and I.D. and introduced himself. Before he could say anything else, she gushed, "Oh, I bet you're here about little Donny, aren't you? That's such a shame; what a sweet little boy."

"Yes, Mrs. Carson, that's exactly why I'm here," Mike said pleasantly as he put his badge away, immediately grateful that this was going to be an easy and hopefully enlightening interview. "I need to find out from you everything you remember Kate Beaton telling you about this reunion she was going to be attending last weekend."

"That? Oh sure, what do you need to know?"

Mike took his notebook and pen out again, and smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

Mike opened the heavy wooden door of Newman's Gym, his nose crinkling as the strong odor of sweat and liniment assaulted him once again. It was a smell he was used to, and even loved, but on an empty stomach it could sometimes have a disagreeable effect. As his eyes adjusted from the bright late afternoon sunshine to the dull fluorescent gloom, he looked around for his partner in the red brick-lined cavernous space.

His gaze fell on two young black boxers going at it in a corner ring, recognizing the taller of the pair as one of the city's up-and-comers. Mesmerized, he jumped slightly when a hand dropped onto his shoulder and a voice in his ear chuckled, "So, ah, you ready to get back to work or are you taking a break?"

He turned, a smile lighting his features, slightly embarrassed at being caught out. "Oh, hey, buddy boy, didn't see you when I came in."

"Really? I was standing right over there," Steve gestured pointedly back towards the door, his eyebrows on the rise.

"It's bright out there, my eyes were having a hard time adjusting," Mike offered as an excuse as the younger man just shook his head. "So, ah, you come up with anything?"

Steve, knowing Mike was desperate to change the subject, chuckled and pulled the notebook out of his pocket. "So, ah, you want to discuss all this here or you want to go someplace where there aren't so many ears?"

Mike glanced around quickly. "Good point. So, you're finished here, we can go?"

"Yep, all done. I didn't have time for lunch. You?" Mike shook his head. "Listen, I heard from the regulars here there's a pretty good diner down the block -"

"Are you kidding? Angelo's. It's the best place for blocks. Got _the_ best chili this side of the wharf. If you're game, I'll even spring for it for us?"

"What? Mike Stone paying for two meals in a row?" He pretended to glance around and raise his voice. "Anybody got a calendar? I want to write this down."

"Ha ha, very funny, buddy boy," Mike whispered in a mock threatening tone, grabbing the younger man's elbow and propelling him towards the door.

Safely outside, Mike released both the elbow and his chuckling partner, who took several quick steps away. "It's down this way, smart guy," Mike glared at him playfully under a furrowed brow as he pointed to the left and they fell into step on the sidewalk, the younger man continuing to chuckle.

"So, what did you get, if anything?" Mike asked as they strode down the block, Steve trailing slightly behind him.

"Well," the younger man inhaled, "our Mrs. Beaton was _not_ a regular at Golden Gate Park and, as a matter of fact, no one ever saw her there before the day Donny disappeared. And as for whether she entered the Park with two or three kids, nobody has any idea. None of the regulars that were there this morning remember seeing her before that day, and nobody remembers the kid. Just the hullaballoo after she passed out and the ambulance was called, and when John showed up and started bellowing that his son was missing."

"Hmmm," Mike murmured, staring at the sidewalk as he listened. "So, what, the trip to the Park was one elaborate ruse to establish an alibi for where everyone was when Donny disappeared?"

"Meaning… Donny was out of the picture earlier than that trip to the Park…" Steve sighed loudly, the reality of what they were investigating once more altering the mood.

"Anything else?"

Steve shook his head, half 'no', half trying to shake off the encroaching melancholy. "Not really. I was discreet back there, for the most part," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the gym, "but from everything I could gather, everybody suspects that Beaton and Rosie are…. let's say… _interested_ in each other, but nobody knows, or will admit they know, that she moved in with him. I kinda think she and Beaton are keeping that one under wraps, so to speak. I have a feeling his fellow boxers wouldn't be, well, as _understanding_ as, say, you and me," he finished with a low chuckle.

"Yeah, right," Mike said dryly. "Okay, well, that tells us something, I guess." They had reached the glass door to Angelo's diner and he pulled it open, stepping back to let the younger man enter first then brushing past him to take a seat at a booth near the kitchen door of the small establishment.

"Hey, Mike, haven't seen you in ages! How ya been keeping?!" a small gray-haired man wearing a white deli clerk hat and shirt shouted from behind the counter.

Mike looked over and grinned. "Marco, great to see you! I've been well. You?"

"Couldn't be better! So, what, two of the usual?"

"You got it! And a – what do you want to drink, buddy boy?"

Flustered, first that Mike was ordering for him and now suddenly having to come up with a beverage choice, stuttered, "Um, ah, a Coke…"

"A ginger ale and a Coke!"

"Coming up!"

As Mike settled in and glanced back at his partner, he froze and his eyes widened. The younger man was wearing an annoyed frown. "What, I hesitate to ask, is _the usual_? Please tell me it's not chili, Mike, I don't think I could stomach chili right now."

"Oh, ah, the house specialty – a Reuben. But not just _any_ Reuben – the best Reuben in San Francisco," Mike smiled disarmingly, relieved to see the younger man relax.

"Well, if _you_ say it's the best –"

"Oh, not me, buddy boy," Mike interrupted him, a hand on his own chest, "it was voted Best Sandwich by the Chronicle's food section last year. Don't you read our local papers?"

"I must have missed it," Steve responded dryly. He sighed, trying not to chuckle. "So, what did _you_ come up with today?"

Tossing his hat on the seat beside him, Mike loosened his tie and undid his collar button. "Well, it seems I had a little bit more luck than you did."

Intrigued, Steve leaned forward. "Do tell."

His smile disappearing, Mike settled in and stared at his young partner. "Well, the ladies I talked to at Kate Beaton's usual park of choice know Donny well – he was a well-liked kid from what I can gather. He didn't talk, of course, but he was good with the other kids and he smiled a lot. The adjective I kept hearing was 'sweet'. And they're all pretty upset that he's gone missing, but from what I could tell, none of them think Kate had anything to do with it.

"They described her as a caring mother to all five of her kids, even Donny. And even though he hadn't been with her and John all that long, it seemed to the ladies of the park that he had become a member of the family."

Mike paused and they glanced up as a young girl approached the table with their drinks. When she left and after taking a sip of the ginger ale, he continued, "However all was not a waste."

He sat back again as Marco arrived at their table with two large plates. "Here ya go, Mike. Two Reubens, just like ya ordered." The elderly man put the plates down, wiped his hands on his apron and turned to Steve. "Who's your new partner?"

"Oh, sorry, Marco, this is Steve Keller; Steve, Marco Santori," Mike flustered then chuckled. "My not-so-new partner; we've been together for a few years now. I guess that's how long it's been since I've been in here."

As Marco and Steve shook hands, the younger man said, "So who's Angelo?"

Marco's eyes lit up. "My brother, God rest his soul. He started this place back in the '40's. He died about ten years ago and I took over. Look, I know you guys have some cop stuff to talk about so I'll let you enjoy your meal." With a grin and a nod at Mike, he backed away from the table and disappeared behind the counter.

With Mike watching in anticipation, Steve picked up the large sandwich and took a bite. He chewed slowly, his face belying nothing until he had swallowed then languidly took a sip of his Coke, putting the bottle back on the counter before saying with grave solemnity, "You were right. That _is_ the best Reuben in town."

Mike deflated with relief and reached for his own sandwich, grinning.

"So, you were saying?" Steve prompted then waited while Mike chewed and swallowed.

"So, you and I are going on a road trip tomorrow."

"What?" Steve's eyebrows rose.

"Well, one of the ladies of the park was very informative. Seems that the weekend before Donny disappeared, Mr. and Mrs. Beaton attended a family reunion, her family, in a small city called Klamath Falls just north of the Oregon border. Took all the kids with 'em."

" _All_ the kids," Steve repeated, cocking his head and narrowing his stare.

Continuing to eat, Mike raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "That's what I've been told. And that's what I want us to find out."

"You want to go up there? You don't trust the Klamath Falls police to find out on their own?"

"It's not that I don't trust them," Mike said with a sigh, "it's just… " He looked down, pushing the plate with the half-eaten sandwich away. "I just want to make sure we don't leave anything, and I mean _anything_ , uninvestigated. And I want to make sure we do it ourselves… There's a little three-year-old kid who's probably dead already but who's still counting on us to find him and bring him home… and I just…" His voice trailed off raggedly, and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

Steve studied the older man's downturned face silently for several long seconds then pushed Mike's plate back across the table. "If we're gonna get an early start, we'd better finish our dinner and get home for a good night's sleep, right?" Mike's head came up slowly and their eyes met and locked. "I'll pick you up at five – is that early enough?"

# # # # #

Klamath Falls Sergeant Jerry Cantley knocked on the screen door of the yellow clapboard bungalow then glanced back over his shoulder at the two San Francisco detectives standing behind him.

They had arrived at the Klamath Falls Police Department around noon, having driven non-stop all morning. Barker had been briefed with the pertinent details and had agreed to accompany the pair to the house of a Mr. and Mrs. Allan Baker. Mrs. Baker, whose first name was Anna, was Kate Beaton's cousin. The reunion had taken place at their home two weekends ago.

A florid-faced middle-aged brunette opened the inner front door, her eyes widening slightly to see a uniformed police officer and two other men standing on her porch. "Can I help you gentlemen?" she asked pleasantly as she pushed the screen door open.

"I sure hope so, ma'am," the local cop said as he took off his cap. "I'm Sergeant Cantley from the Klamath Falls Police Department and these two gentlemen are from San Francisco. We'd like to ask you a few questions about the, ah, the family reunion you had here a couple a weekends ago?"

Her head went back slightly and she frowned. "Our family reunion? What kind of questions would you have about our family reunion? Nothing happened here, I can assure you of that." Her tone remained calm though puzzled.

Mike smiled genially as he took out his badge and I.D. "Mrs. Baker, I'm Lieutenant Stone from the San Francisco Police Department and this is my partner, Inspector Keller." Steve, his badge also out, nodded and smiled. "We, ah, we know nothing happened, that's not why we're here," he chuckled amiably, hoping to put her at ease. "We just have a couple of questions about your cousin, Catherine Beaton."

"Well, Catherine's my second cousin, and she's a lot younger than me. I don't really know her so I don't know what I can tell you. But, may I ask, what could have happened that brings you all the way up here from San Francisco?"

"Well, ah," Mike hesitated, looking away briefly, "I guess you haven't heard up here, but one of her children went missing from a park in the city almost a week ago –"

"One of her kids?! Oh no! Are you serious?! Oh my god, which one?!" Anna Baker was suddenly frantic and Mike reached out to put a comforting hand on her upper arm.

"It was her little foster son, Donny, the three-year-old with the… speech problem," Mike said gently, and all three police officers watched as Mrs. Baker's brow furrowed and she froze.

"I'm sorry… Donny? She doesn't have a foster son with a speech problem, you must be mistaken," she said slowly, shaking her head.

"Mrs. Baker," Steve asked quietly, taking a step closer, "how many children did Kate and John Beaton bring to your reunion?"

"Why, four, of course. They only _have_ four children."

Mike took a deep breath and looked at his partner, who turned to him with raised eyebrows. Then he closed his eyes… and any lingering hope that he may have had disappeared.


	9. Chapter 9

"So you're sure you got that, Norm?... I don't want any screw-ups here, you're sure you wrote down what I want?" There was no mistaking the anger and passion in Mike's words as they drifted across the Criminal Investigations room of the Klamath Falls Police Department.

Sergeant Cantley, sitting on the edge of one of the metal desks, looked up at Steve, who was staring at his partner with a worried frown. "Is he always this intense?"

Steve snorted and tore his eyes away to glance at the local cop, a brief smile surfacing. "Well, he can be at times, but I've never seen him like this. This time it's… well, this time is really… different."

Cantley eyed him sympathetically. "I can imagine. We haven't had a missing or murdered kid here in years, not in my time here anyway, knock on wood. But I know it's gotta be hell…"

"Yeah," Steve said quietly, his eyes once more on his partner as the older man hung up the phone and sat unmoving for several seconds, staring at nothing. Then he seemed to shake himself back to the present, got to his feet and crossed the small office towards the others.

"We better hit the road," he said to Steve brusquely, then turned to Cantley with a smile that didn't quite seem to reach his eyes. "Sergeant, thank you very much, we appreciate all the help." He held out his right hand and Cantley shook it as he got to his feet.

"You're very welcome, Lieutenant. I just wish it had been better news, although I don't quite know what 'better news' would have been."

Mike nodded once with raised eyebrows. "Exactly." He started towards the door and Steve fell in behind him, shooting Cantley a grateful but brief smile and nod.

The Klamath Falls cop mouthed 'Good luck', his expression a blend of worry and compassion.

# # # # #

"So what did you tell Norm?" Steve asked as they settled into the car and he started the engine. Mike was rubbing his fingers over his eyes, in a futile attempt to wipe away the mounting fatigue.

"I told him to set up a meeting with Gerry O'Brien tomorrow morning – I want to see about arranging a plea bargain between the two women. I think we're pretty sure right now that all three of them had something to do with Donny's disappearance and I have a feeling, if we come at it in the right way, we can get one of the women to crack. So I want to arrange it with Gerry to offer an immunity deal to whichever one of them breaks rank first."

"You really think that'll work?"

"Well, we can hope. After I get the okay from Gerry, Norm and the boys are gonna bring in both Kate Beaton and Rosie Alvarez. I'm gonna offer them the opportunity to clear themselves by taking a polygraph, and if they refuse, which I'm guessing they will, then we'll go the 'immunity offer' route. See which one goes for it first. My money's on the girlfriend. She may be tough, but she has more to lose here, I think."

Mike was looking out the side window as the houses and buildings of Klamath Falls slipped by.

"And what if neither of them goes for it?" Steve asked softly.

"Then… then I go after Mr. Beaton." Mike paused and the mood in the sedan turned even darker. "I'm going to find little Donny Tyler if it's the last thing I ever do in my career."

# # # # #

"Gerry went for it?" Steve asked as the Homicide door slammed open and Mike strode purposefully into the bullpen towards his office, his fedora in his hand.

"He sure did. Get the word to Norm and the boys to pick up Kate Beaton and Rosie Alvarez and bring 'em in, and make sure they have Child Services with them. I don't want any screw-ups with those kids. We're treading a fine line here already; the public has no idea Mrs. Beaton is a suspect and I don't want them finding out."

"Everything's set. Both ladies are under surveillance and CS is standing by," Steve reported as he picked up the phone and began to dial.

Mike hung his hat on the rack in his office and crossed around the desk to drop wearily into the chair. Staring into nothing, he absent-mindedly pulled his tie loose and undid the collar button, then put both hands on the desk to stop them shaking. He sat that way for a very long time.

# # # # #

Mike studied Catherine Beaton through the glass walls of the interrogation room for several long seconds before he opened the door and led his partner into the room. Steve dropped a file folder loudly onto the table before pulling a chair out and sitting heavily, patting his tie down and clearing his throat. Mike closed the door and leaned against it, folding his arms and staring at Catherine from under a lowered brow.

She looked from Steve to his older partner and swallowed heavily, indecision and trepidation briefly passing over her otherwise pleasing features. Then her eyes turned cold and her demeanor began to radiate irritation and anger.

"So, have you found Donny yet? Are you even looking?" she asked Steve sharply, her hands on the desk in front of her, worrying an almost shredded tissue.

With a slight smirk, Steve opened the file, glancing up and shaking his head. "No, Mrs. Beaton, believe me, if we'd found Donny you and your husband would be the first to be notified."

"So why am I here?"

"Well, we just have a few questions about the last time you saw Donny."

"You mean, at the Park, when he disappeared…?" she asked tentatively, her frown deepening.

"No, I mean before that, before your family reunion."

She froze for a beat, then her eyes slid from Steve's to Mike's and she smiled slightly. "What family reunion?"

Mike pushed himself away from the door and stepped closer to the table. "The family reunion you had up in Klamath Falls two weekends ago, the weekend before Donny disappeared. You mean you forgot about it already?"

"Oh, ah, yeah, now I remember… it's just, ah, it's just I've been so preoccupied with Donny I forgot."

"Of course you did," Mike said with blatant skepticism as he pulled out the second chair and sat beside his partner. "Did you also forget going up there with only four children instead of five?"

Catherine froze again, her eyes snapping to Mike's and widening slightly. "What are you talking about? Of course we went up there with five children."

Mike just stared at her while Steve smiled coldly and shook his head. "Not according to Anna Baxter – she's your second cousin, isn't she? The one who hosted the reunion?" He flipped over some papers in the file and pretended to read. "She told us yesterday that you and John were there with only _four_ kids." He looked up directly into her eyes. "She was pretty sure about that, and so was her husband. Now why would she lie about that?"

"Well, she, ah, she wouldn't lie, but maybe she's just mistaken. There were a lot of kids up there – tons of 'em. I have a lot of cousins and… second cousins and third cousins - it's a big family. It's the first time we've all gotten together and most of us don't know each other. So, I don't know, maybe she just lost track of how many kids everybody's got. God, I know I did!"

The words had come out in a rush and she tried her best to sound authoritative and firm. When the two detectives just continued to sit and stare, the fidgeting returned and her eyes snapped back and forth between them.

"I don't know what else you want me to say, it's the truth. Donny was with us up in Klamath Falls, just ask John, for God's sake!" She paused, waiting for a response that didn't come. "It's the truth, I don't know what else to tell you!"

"All right," Mike said slowly, nodding his head, "if you say so." He leaned forward slightly and she pulled back, wanting to maintain the distance. "Mrs. Beaton, you were read your rights when Sergeant Haseejian picked you up this morning, am I right?"

"Yes," she acknowledged tentatively, the response almost a question.

"And you agreed to talk to us without retaining a lawyer first and we're grateful for that. We just want to clear the air here and we all want to find Donny, don't we?" She nodded, staring at him intently. "Well, we're going to give you the opportunity to clear yourself, if you're willing to take it."

Catherine's eyes slid to Steve's, who was staring at her blankly, then back again. "What, ah, what do I have to do?"

"Well, if what you just told us is the truth, you can take a polygraph test – a lie detector test – and put this all behind you."

She hesitated, and they could see a glimmer of hope appear in her pale blue eyes. "I can?" They both nodded. "You mean, if I pass a lie detector test, you can't accuse me of having anything to do with Donny's disappearance?"

It was a curious choice of words that was not lost on either detective, and they resisted the urge to look at each other. Mike nodded slowly, "That's exactly what that means. Do you want to take the test?"

She seemed to have second thoughts, looking down at the shredded tissue in her hands and taking a deep breath. Then she started to nod. "Okay," she said with growing conviction, "okay, I'll do it."

"Good," Mike smiled suddenly, standing quickly and turning to the door. "I'll set it up right away."

Steve watched Catherine's face suddenly lose all animation and, as she swallowed nervously, he smiled woodenly.

# # # # #

The partners were leaning against a desk halfway across the bullpen, staring into the small glassed-walled interrogation room where the polygraph technician, Bradley Stanton, was sitting opposite Mrs. Catherine Beaton.

Though they couldn't hear what was going on, they could both tell that as Stanton got further down the list of prepared questions, the more Catherine was becoming uncomfortable. She had started the examination calm and relaxed, but as each new question was introduced, they could see her start to fidget, then to overtly squirm.

Suddenly they heard her scream, stand abruptly and try to remove the coiled wire that was fastened around her chest. The cops were on their feet immediately, Steve getting to the door a split second before his partner. Stanton was up and reaching for Catherine, who was trying to remove the blood pressure cuff from her left bicep, her short, heavy breaths filling the room.

"He's accusing me of killing my son!" she got out between gasps as she pulled the cuff off her arm and threw it on the desk beside the pneumograph tube. She turned angrily towards the door. "You lied to me! You're not trying to clear me, you're trying to convict me!"

Pushing Steve out of the way, she charged into the bullpen, looked around for the door and started towards it. Sergeant Dan Healey, who was standing near the entrance, glanced over at Mike, who shook his head. The angry woman, her rage filling the air behind her, threw open the outer door and disappeared into the corridor.

Mike and Steve looked at each other and almost smiled. They both knew they didn't have enough evidence to keep her in custody for the moment, but that her performance just now had added another layer of proof to the growing pile. Their little ploy had worked. Donny's 'mother' was rattled, and that was a good thing.

As he crossed back towards his office, Mike looked over at Haseejian, who was leaning back in his chair watching the proceedings with interest. "Norm, can you please go get Mrs. Alvarez and escort her to my office?"

The Armenian sergeant grinned. "It would be my pleasure, Mike," he said cordially as he got to his feet and exchanged a knowing look with Healey.

As Mike sat behind his desk, he met his partner's eyes as the younger man dropped into the guest chair. They both smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

Sergeant Haseejian walked across the bullpen floor slightly behind a scowling Eugenia Alvarez; he grabbed her elbow to steer her in the direction of Mike's office and she pulled angrily away from his touch. He was still chuckling when he got to the office door.

"Lieutenant, Inspector," he announced formally to the two men already seated in the small glass-walled room, "Mrs. Eugenia Alvarez." He started to put a hand on her back to push her inside but quickly changed his mind when she turned to him sharply; he settled for a gesture.

Jacketless, his tie loosened and collar button undone, Steve had pulled his chair to the left side of the desk; a file was spread out before him and he was leafing through the pages. Mike, in shirtsleeves and glasses, was poring over another file but they both looked up at the arrival of their guest.

Taking off his glasses, Mike beamed genially as he stood, holding out his right hand. "Mrs. Alvarez, I'm Lieutenant Stone. I believe you already met my partner, Inspector Keller." Steve had staggered to his feet and nodded at her noncommittally with a mirthless smile.

Alvarez turned cold eyes on the younger cop. "Yeah, we met," she said flatly then looked back at the still smiling lieutenant as she perfunctorily shook his hand. "I've been waiting here for over an hour. What do you want to talk to me about?"

"Please, have a seat," Mike said amiably, gesturing to the guest chair, and they both waited till she sat, somewhat reluctantly, before sitting again themselves.

Mike put his glasses back on and turned up the top of the file folder in front of him so it was easier to read. "So, Mrs. Alvarez, when, exactly, did you decide to move in with Mr. and Mrs. Beaton?"

Her freeze was almost imperceptible, but to both cops it seemed like she had turned into a pillar of salt. She blinked quickly a couple of times. "Who said I moved in with the Beatons?" Her voice was level and calm.

Mike looked up from the file and grinned. "Oh, ah, your mother." He stared at her, continuing to smile, as she glared back, trying not to give anything away but somehow knowing it was too late. She swallowed heavily.

"Come now, Mrs. Alvarez, you can't be surprised that we know. I'm sure someone told you that Steve here was around the gym a couple of days ago asking questions about you and John." Her eyes flicked briefly at the younger man's but her expression remained neutral. "So why don't you make it easier on yourself - and us, to be perfectly honest," his grin got a bit wider, "and tell us all about you and the Beatons."

Nobody moved for several long seconds, then her bravado seemed to ebb away and she sagged in the metal chair. "What do you want to know?" she asked sullenly, looking down.

Mike glanced quickly at his partner, then leaned back, took off his glasses and put them on top of the file. Steve leaned back as well, folding his arms.

"Well," Mike said slowly, "we know that John moved in with you and your mother a couple of months ago. Why was that?"

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, then shook her head furiously, opening her eyes and looking down. "He, ah, he and I had become good friends at the gym, but we were, you know, just friends… at the start. He had a bunch a kids and so did I, so we had something to talk about, you know? And he loved his kids… I really liked that about him." Her voice became soft, almost wistful.

Then she shook her head and her voice hardened. "Johnny never did like that Donny kid. He was mad at Kate when she applied to foster him. He didn't want no retarded kid to look after. I mean, don't get me wrong, he loves all his kids, he really does, but the other four kids, they're normal, you know what I mean?"

Steve could see Mike clench his teeth, the tendons standing out along his jawline, but his wide-eyed openness never wavered. "So you're saying John wasn't thrilled to have Donny Tyler in his house?" he asked, glancing at Mike to let him know he had this one.

Alvarez's eyes slid in his direction, and the earlier animosity was now gone. "He was just getting fed up. Donny took up more time and effort than any of the other kids. There was lot of, I don't know, tension I guess you could call it, in the house, I know that. It seemed that was all John could talk about."

"And that's when John decided to leave and move in with you?" Mike asked evenly, having gotten his anger under control.

"Yeah. He and Kate had a screaming match one night, about Donny, and he showed up on my doorstep."

"And did you and he… I mean, with your mother and your kids in the house…?"

Alvarez was staring at Mike in confusion, not quite sure what he was getting at, then her eyes widened. "No, god no, I love my mother, I wouldn't do anything against her wishes," she sputtered then sat back quickly as Mike leaned forward.

"You love her so much you left her with your three kids to move in with the Beatons?" he asked sharply, the smile disappearing.

She glared at him, knowing they were seeing through her words, through her lies. "All right," she spat out, "we were lovers, is that what you want to hear?"

"We want to hear the truth, Mrs. Alvarez, and we want to find out what happened to little Donny Tyler. Is that too much to ask? To find out what happened to a three-year-old boy who couldn't even speak for himself, who didn't have a voice?" Mike's tone was getting hard and cold.

Steve, staring at his partner's profile, reached around the desk with his right hand and laid it on Mike's leg, tightening his fingers in a gentle squeeze. He saw Mike freeze almost imperceptibly and swallow heavily. The older man glanced down briefly, as if collecting himself, then looked up at the defiant young woman again. "The truth, Mrs. Alvarez. We want the truth."

She snorted derisively, glanced at Steve with an unsettling fierceness in her cold dark eyes, then turned back to Mike with an almost impatient sigh. "Okay, the truth? The truth is John and I were lovers, all right? But his wife loved him so much she begged him to come home – literally begged him. I could hear her on the phone." She shook her head with another derisive snort. "The dumb bastard actually loves her too, so he told her he'd come home if he could bring me with him, can you believe that? And the stupid bitch said 'sure'."

Glancing at his silent partner once more, Steve leaned forward slightly. "So you're telling us you left your three kids to move in with a guy who would bring his lover into the same house with his wife and kids?"

Her eyes slid towards his slowly and defiantly. "Is there a law against that?"

"There are unwritten laws of morality and decency, young lady," Mike answered her, his voice unnaturally low and frighteningly calm.

"Yeah, well, maybe there are for your generation…." The unsaid _'old man'_ hanging in the air between them as their eyes locked and neither moved nor breathed.

Steve looked quickly from one to the other. "Donny Tyler," he interjected almost anxiously, wanting to put a damper on the increasingly tense atmosphere in the room. "We want to know about Donny Tyler."

Alvarez's dark eyes slid slowly in his direction. "What's in it for me?"

Feigning ignorance, Steve asked blankly, "What do you mean?"

She smiled slightly, looking from one to the other. "Don't play dumb. I know you guys want to know what I know, and I bet you're willing to… cut me a deal if I tell you, right?" When there was no immediate response, she continued, her smile widening slightly, "Or I could just ask for a lawyer, couldn't I?"

Steve glanced at Mike, who had continued to stare at the young woman now sitting back with a smirk plastered across her otherwise attractive features. The older man sat back slightly and lowered his head. He pursed his lips then, seeming to reach an otherwise disagreeable decision, leaned forward and laid his forearms on the desk.

"If you tell us the truth… a truth that can be upheld in a court of law… then you will face no charges in regards to the disappearance of Donald Tyler."

Steve's eyes had flicked briefly from Alvarez to Mike, and he held his breath, hoping the young woman would be impressed by the offer and not really listening to its exact phrasing.

Alvarez stared into Mike's intense blue eyes for several long seconds then began to nod slowly, the smirk turning into a tiny, almost triumphant smile.

"You know about the reunion then, I take it?" she asked contritely, muttering under her breath, "You know about everything else, it seems."

Steve swallowed a smile. "Yeah. You, ah, you didn't go, I take it?"

She shot him an annoyed glance then looked defiantly back at Mike, who continued to stare, almost unblinking, his distaste woefully and uncharacteristically apparent.

"The day they left to go, John started bellyaching about having to take the kid along. For some reason, I guess 'cause he doesn't really have a decent job and all that, he wanted to make a good impression with Kate's relatives. You see, John has a pretty high opinion of himself." She stopped and stared at Mike with a snarky smile, tilting her head. "I like that in my men," she almost spat out.

Mike didn't move. After several seconds, she dropped her gaze and continued, "Anyway, he and Kate argued about the kid and he won – he always wins. And then he asked me to look after the kid." She snorted mirthlessly. "Can you believe that? Me, looking after that retard? I told him I was going home to my own kids while they were gone."

Mike inhaled loudly and she stopped and froze, looking at him. She seemed to deflate slightly and her gaze lowered.

"Anyway, well, I wasn't there when it happened, but I heard about it afterwards…" She swallowed heavily and dropped her head. Her voice became soft and far away. "He, ah, he took the boy up to one of the upstairs bedrooms. He put duct tape over the kid's mouth, then wrapped him up in a carpet and put it in the closet…"

Mike inhaled loudly again, his eyes widening as he sat back in the chair. Steve swallowed heavily, his eyes travelling slowly from Alvarez to his partner and back.

"He, ah, he said he'd done it before. For a few hours. But this was a weekend…" She was looking down at her hands in her lap, and all the bravado she had walked into the Homicide office with only minutes before was now gone. "When they got home on the Monday, he opened the carpet and the boy was dead… They panicked... They didn't know what to do…"

She inhaled raggedly and tears beaded on her eyelashes. "John said they'd be charged with murder… so in the middle of the night he, ah, he took the carpet with the kid's body in it and drove over to Marin County somewhere. He told me he stopped beside a large ravine, he poured some gas on the carpet and set it on fire and pushed it down into the ravine… Then he drove home."

Mike continued to stare, not moving. Steve glanced at him then asked quietly, "The incident in Golden Gate Park – that was a set-up?"

Her tear-filled eyes turned to him, confused. "You mean like an alibi?"

He nodded. "Yeah," she looked down again, "yeah, they wanted to make it look like the kid got snatched."

"Donny," Mike interrupted. "He has a name. Donny."

She looked up at the older cop, fear suddenly appearing in her eyes. She slowly nodded. "They figured if everyone thought the k-… thought that Donny had been kidnapped, then they wouldn't think he was dead."

"But her collapse?" Steve asked. "She was diagnosed with…" He flipped through the file before him quickly. "Mitro valve prolapse. That's pretty serious and not something you can fake."

"She didn't fake it. She wasn't diagnosed _then_ , she knew all about it from before. Ask her doctor. She told me about it – she knew what the symptoms were and she just… pretended, I guess."

She finished talking and sat back, looking down, her hands knotted in her lap. Steve looked at his partner, waiting for the next move. After several long seconds, Mike looked briefly in his direction. "Steve," he said, nodding at Alvarez, and they both stood, the younger man reaching behind his back to snap the handcuffs off his belt.

"Eugenia Rose Alvarez, you're under arrest for being an accessory after the fact and the obstruction of justice in the murder of Donald Tyler –"

As Steve stepped behind her, her head came up quickly and she bellowed, "What?! You can't arrest me! We had a deal! I didn't kill the damn kid! I –"

Steve had pulled her to her feet and snapped on the cuffs. Wisely, though she kept running her mouth, she chose not to fight back. Haseejian and Healey, who had been hovering nearby, stepped to the door of Mike's office and the lieutenant nodded at them both. Between them, they hustled the now furious young woman out of the small office and across the bullpen.

As her voice died away, Steve looked at his partner. "I knew she only heard the part about 'disappearance'." Mike sat heavily, his stare focused inward. "You want to have Beaton picked up?"

"Not yet," Mike said quietly and Steve hesitated.

"What do you mean, not yet? She just told us he killed Donny and got rid of his body."

Mike looked up slowly from his study of the desk and met his partner's eyes. "She's lying, Steve."


	11. Chapter 11

"What do you mean, she's lying?" Steve took a step closer to the desk as Mike continued to stare at him, a slight though mirthless smile playing over his lips.

"You heard her."

"Yeah, I heard her say John Beaton put duct tape over Donny Tyler's mouth, wrap him in a carpet and leave him to die in a bedroom closet."

"That's not what I mean. She said, _She told me about it._ The heart problem. Kate Beaton told her about it."

"Yeah, so?" Steve dropped down onto the chair that Alvarez had vacated, his face a question.

"Would you disclose your personal medical information to someone who's your… romantic rival?" Mike asked quietly.

Steve froze, his eyes narrowing, and he slowly sat back. "Son of a bitch. She's not John Beaton's lover, she's Kate's," he said haltingly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Continuing to smile slightly, Mike nodded. "I have a feeling she might have started out as his lover, but became hers."

Steve shook his head. "Man, she is good," he intoned with an almost reverential admiration. "So, what, you think maybe she accidentally killed Donny, in much the same way she described John doing it, and is making John the scapegoat?"

"That's my guess."

Melancholia filled the air between them, both men staring into nothingness. Eventually Steve lifted his head slightly. "So, I guess this means Donny really is dead… like you said he would be…"

"I would have given anything to have been wrong…"

"I know…"

Mike closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip. Another silence lengthened then Steve exhaled loudly. "So, what do you want to do next?" he asked quietly.

Mike opened his eyes and stared at his young friend, grateful for the understanding, and for being brought back to their current reality. "I want you to find out who Kate Beaton's doctor is and confirm what Alvarez said. If he says she knew about this… heart problem already, then I want all three of them back in here tomorrow morning." He paused then sighed. "I don't know about you but I've had enough for one day. I don't know how much more I can take right now."

Steve smiled warmly. "Yeah, I hear ya. Look, ah, let me find out about that doctor and then I'll take you out to dinner, and we'll talk about baseball or football or… I don't know… basketball? My treat."

As tired as he was, Mike grinned and nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Steve got up and took the couple of steps to the door. "You know," he said thoughtfully, turning back towards the older man, "I missed that - what she said? I missed it - completely." He grinned and shook his head.

Mike raised his eyebrows and shrugged dismissively. "Luck. I almost missed it too. Go find that doctor."

With a gentle chuckle, slapping the doorframe a couple of times as he exited the room, Steve crossed to his desk, glancing back in time to see the smile disappear from his partner's face, replaced by a deep sadness.

# # # # #

Catherine Beaton and Eugenia Alvarez were sitting abreast of each other on the far side of the large wooden table when Mike and Steve eventually entered the interrogation room. The women had been sitting in silence for over twenty minutes, closely watched by Homicide sergeants Haseejian and Healey on the other side of the glass. They hadn't even looked at each other.

Mike, already wearing his reading glasses, sat first, tossing a file onto the desk, not looking up at the tight-lipped pair. Steve's stare went back and forth between them as he sat, his barely contained anger blatantly evident.

"Mrs. Beaton," Mike began without preamble, lifting the top sheet of the folder and reading from the page below, "according to your GP, a Doctor Mark Howard, you've known about your… mitro valve prolapse heart problem for over two years." He let the sheet drop as he looked over the top of his glasses straight into her eyes. "So how can you possibly tell us with a straight face that when you collapsed at Golden Gate Park and were taken to the hospital that this diagnosis came as a surprise?"

She was staring into his cold blue eyes without blinking, then dropped her gaze and swallowed heavily.

"Am I right?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then opened them quickly and looked back up. "Yes… you're right, I did know," she spat out.

"So your little… swoon at Golden Gate Park, that was just, what? Performance art?" Steve asked flatly.

Catherine's pale blue eyes swung in his direction, almost blazing. Their stares locked for several seconds, then she blinked and looked down again.

"When did you two become lovers?" Mike asked suddenly, and both pair of female eyes snapped to his haunted and unforgiving features. Both officers saw the brief flash of guilt that washed over their faces.

"We're not –" Catherine began.

"You told her about your heart problems, didn't you?" Mike cut her off sharply, taking off his glasses and tossing them on the table. "Why would you tell your husband's lover about something so personal?"

She stared at him, unsure of what to say. Mike met her gaze evenly and when she finally broke it, looking down, he turned towards the heretofore silent Alvarez.

"You lied to us yesterday," he told her simply. "It sounded good, too good really. You had your story down pat, didn't you? John didn't like Donny –" Catherine turned to Alvarez sharply, frowning. "- was ashamed to take him to the Beaton family reunion, so he wrapped him up in a carpet and left him in the closet to die. A neat little story that, well, has _some_ truth in it." He paused and leaned back, folding his arms. "But not the entire truth, is it?"

Catherine had continued to stare at Alvarez's profile, anger burning in her eyes. Alvarez was looking at the table. Mike and Steve exchanged a brief glance.

Mike allowed the silence to lengthen then turned his head slightly in his partner's direction. "Steve, could you please take Mrs. Beaton from the room?"

As the younger man began to stand, Catherine's face swung towards Mike. "No, I want to stay. _I'll_ tell you the truth if she won't," she pleaded urgently, "I'll tell you what happened. The truth, I swear!"

Mike stared at her, then got up and moved to the door. As he opened it, he called out, "Sergeant Haseejian, could you please take Mrs. Alvarez back to the cells?" He stood at the door while Haseejian and Healey entered the room, pulled Alvarez to her feet and escorted her from the room. Then he closed the door and sat again, leaning across the table towards Catherine Beaton, who was staring at her clasped hands in her lap.

"What happened?" Mike asked quietly, his voice cold and threatening.

She blinked quickly several times and looked up from under a lowered brow. "You were right about Rosie and me being lovers. I'm not proud of that, but it's the truth… I never meant for it to happen, neither of us did… It just… happened." She paused and swallowed, biting her lip. "She's lying about John. He loved Donny, he really did. We both did. He was a lot of work, but he was always happy and smiling. Our other kids loved him too."

She squeezed her eyes shut and tears began to bead on the lashes. "Rosie hated him. I don't know why, exactly… maybe she thought he was taking too much of our time and energy… I don't know." She took a deep unsteady breath. "The day before the reunion, we were at home – John was working for a few hours unloading a truck for a few bucks. All the kids except Donny were with my neighbors, playing with their kids.

"Rosie wanted to make love. Whenever she wanted to do it, we did it… I didn't have much choice, you know… She's, um, she has very… intense needs and, ah, she's a lot stronger than I am…" She paused and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Donny was fussing. He had a bit of a cold and he was a little cranky and I couldn't get him to calm down and be quiet. And the more he fussed, the angrier she got."

Catherine stopped talking and licked her lips. Steve got to his feet and crossed to the small table in the corner of the room; he poured a glass of water and brought it back to the table. She shot him a grateful look as he handed her the glass and she took a sip.

"We were in the master bedroom, Donny was in his room. I had a big playpen I would put him in sometimes if I was alone and had to get things done without him following me around all the time. She got up and told me to stay where I was, that she would look after Donny."

"You weren't afraid that she'd do something to him?" Mike asked gently.

She shook her head rapidly, blinking quickly again. "No… no, I really didn't. I heard him crying as she left the room, and then he went quiet. She came back about ten minutes later and she told me she had just sat with him until he calmed down and went to sleep… I had no reason not to believe her."

"John came home about two hours later… we were still in the bedroom." She hesitated, looking up at the two cops. "He knew… he knew about us. He didn't like it but he knew. And we tried to be, ah, discreet I guess you could call it, and not do it when he was there." She took another sip of water and looked down.

"John came home and asked why it was so quiet. I told him the kids were at the neighbors and Donny was in his room sleeping. He went up to Donny's room and yelled down that he wasn't there… I asked Rosie where he was and she wouldn't tell me… I, ah, I told John what happened and he screamed at her, he demanded to know where Donny was. And, ah, and she told him…"

Tears had started to trickle down her cheeks and she ineffectively tried to wipe them away. "She had found some tape that John had lying around and she'd put it over his mouth and then wrapped him up in a small carpet and put him in the closet… When John got to him and opened the carpet, he, ah, he was cold and he was blue and stiff…"

She started to sob, shaking. Mike took the white handkerchief from his pocket and slid it across the table towards her.

"We, ah, John didn't know what to do. It was an accident, Rose kept saying, an accident, she didn't mean for him to die. John was crying and holding Donny and he didn't know what to do. She said we'd all be in trouble for it, we would all be charged with murder and that John had to do something with the body to make sure that didn't happen."

She stopped again and closed her eyes. After a few long seconds, Mike reached across the table and laid a hand gently on her forearm. "What did he do?" he asked softly.

She inhaled deeply and raggedly. "He waited till around midnight, then he put the carpet in the trunk of the car. He drove over to Marin County somewhere and he left it there. I don't know where, I swear I don't. You'll have to ask John."

She dropped her head, the tears coming faster now. Mike removed his hand and stood slowly, crossing to the door and opening it. "Inspector Tanner," he called out, and the tall black police officer crossed the bullpen. "I want you to book Mrs. Beaton for accessory after the fact and obstruction of justice, with other charges pending."

She sobbed loudly as Tanner crossed to the far side of the table and pulled her to her feet, but she offered no resistance as he led her across the bullpen and out the door.

Steve, who had stood, looked to his partner. Mike watched as Catherine was led away then started across the tile floor towards the interrogation room on the other side of the office, Steve on his heels. John Beaton was sitting on a hard metal chair on the far side of the wooden table. He had been alone in there for over an hour.

Without hesitation, Mike threw open the door, crossed towards Beaton and, in one vicious move, grabbed the younger man by the front of his shirt, yanked him to his feet and slammed him against the wall, the metal chair clanging to the floor. In the blink of an eye, Mike's hand travelled from Beaton's shirt to around his throat as he pinned the now terrified man to the wall.

"Where is he?" Mike hissed, his entire body shaking.

"Mike!" Steve yelled as he took a step towards his partner but the older man held up his free hand and he stopped in his tracks.

All movement in the Homicide office ceased, as every eye in the place turned towards the small interrogation room. No one breathed.

"Where is he?!" Mike hissed again and Steve watched as his fingers tightened around Beaton's throat.


	12. Chapter 12

"Mike," Steve said again quietly, but the older man wasn't listening. His fingers had tightened around John Beaton's throat; the young husband's eyes were bulging and his face was turning red.

Just as Steve took another step towards his out-of-control partner, Mike relaxed his grip and Beaton gasped.

"I said where is he?" Mike growled for the third time, and under his hand Beaton began to furiously shake his head.

"I'll tell you, okay, I'll tell you," he croaked, coughing as he tried to catch his breath.

Mike hesitated for a few long seconds then his hand slid very slowly down from Beaton's throat to flatten out against his chest, keeping him pinned to the wall. The older man was still trembling, every muscle and sinew vibrating with rage. His deep ragged breaths could be heard in the bullpen.

Steve relaxed slightly but his eyes never left his partner's face; he had never seen such naked fury in his best friend's usually passive features.

Beaton's wide, terror-filled eyes bored into Mike's as he struggled to breath normally. "Ma-… Marin County… he's in Marin County…"

Mike slammed him back against the wall again. "Where in Marin County?!"

"Mike…"

"There's a… a stand of trees and a ravine near the, ah… just past the Tennessee Valley Trailhead… near the turnoff to the Haypress Campground…"

"Did you get that, Steve?" Mike asked over his shoulder without turning his head.

Nodding, his partner answered quietly, "Yeah, I got it, Mike."

The lieutenant, who had relaxed slightly while Beaton talked, pushed him back against the wall once more, and both men stiffened, one in fear, one in anger. Mike glared into Beaton's wide, scared eyes. "Did you set fire to the carpet?" he asked coldly.

Beaton eyes slid down and he closed them. Tears beaded on his lashes suddenly then he opened his eyes again and nodded slowly. "But you gotta know," he said haltingly, beginning to cry, "I loved that kid, I really did."

Mike let his hand drop away from Beaton's chest and took a half step back. Steve swallowed, releasing a deeply held breath. The people in the outer office began to breathe again.

Mike turned to walk away, then spun back towards Beaton, his right fist shooting out and connecting solidly with the younger man's jaw. Beaton's head slammed back into the wall and he crumpled where he stood as Mike wheeled away and strode angrily past Steve and out the door.

Stunned, Steve backed away as Mike pushed by, his eyes flicking briefly to the limp form of John Beaton slumping to the floor. Within seconds Mike was at his office door, grabbing his fedora from the coat rack then heading across the bullpen towards the exit.

Steve bolted to his desk and grabbed his jacket and was just about to head for the outer door when he doubled back and snagged Mike's black topcoat and his own beige raincoat off the rack in the inner office. Then, following rapidly in his partner's wake, he glanced at Haseejian, gesturing back towards Beaton. "Norm…?"

"I got this," the Armenian detective assured him, already hustling towards the interrogation room.

"Steve!" Healey called out as the inspector reached the outer office door, "I'm already on the phone with Marin. I'll bring you and Mike up to speed when I get something."

With a grateful nod, Steve exited into the busy corridor, catching up to his partner pacing at the elevator. Mike shot him a dark and threatening look and the younger man opted to keep his tongue.

In the basement garage, Steve broke into a jog to keep up with his fast striding partner and to make sure he got to the driver's side first. Though he had the car keys in his pocket, he would be powerless if Mike demanded that he turn them over and, at this moment, he had no desire to see his overwrought partner behind the wheel.

His worry turned out to be for naught as Mike yanked open the passenger side door without a word. With a relieved sigh, Steve circled the sedan and got in, tossing their overcoats into the backseat, and they were heading up the exit ramp in record time. A dark and overcast morning had gotten even darker and the clouds were threatening. It was a cold and dismal Northern California day, a perfect match for the mood inside the tan LTD.

Traffic was mercifully light and they made it across the Golden Gate Bridge quickly. Technically not being an emergency, Steve was driving without lights and siren but still making good time. He kept glancing across the front seat; Mike had been sitting silently, staring straight ahead, since they had left the Hall.

Leaving the Bridge, still on the 101, approaching Sausalito to the east and the Golden Gate National Recreation Area to the west, the police radio crackled. _"Inspectors Eight-One, please respond, Inspectors Eight-One."_

Steve's eyes snapped to his partner but when there was still no response, he grabbed the handset and thumbed the talk button. "Inspectors Eight-One, go ahead."

" _Be advised that Sergeant Derek Miller of SFFO reports they are on scene of your possible dump site. Tennessee Valley Road just past the Trailhead. Please advise."_

Cringing at the dispatcher's choice of words, Steve's eyes flicked once more towards Mike, who was now looking at the radio, his eyes even darker. "Tell them we're on our way. ETA twenty to thirty minutes."

" _Ten-four, Eight-One."_

As he hung the mic up, he glanced up at his partner and their eyes finally met briefly. Mike reached under his seat, pulling out the gumball, and rolled down the side window, slapping the red light on the roof above his head. Steve snapped the siren on as the skies opened up and the rain began to pour. He turned the windshield wipers on high and put the headlights on.

The sky was so dark they needed the brights as Steve swung the large sedan from Almonte Blvd. onto Tennessee Valley Road. He wasn't familiar with this particular part of the National Park and had to slow down to compensate for the unlit road and the weather.

They had just passed the Tennessee Valley Trailhead and were approaching the turnoff for the Haypress Trail when they saw the first flashing lights on the left side of the road. Steve pulled up behind the first cruiser and stopped. They could see three Park Services police cars and a PS pick-up truck, parked perpendicular to the side of the road, front end across the left lane.

Mike had the passenger side door open, bracing it with his foot as it snapped back, and was almost out of the car before it came to a complete stop. Steve, anxious to follow, glanced into the back seat at their overcoats, then dismissed the idea and followed his partner.

Mike approached a uniformed sergeant who had broken away from the others at the side of the road and was striding towards them in the heavy downpour. "Lieutenant Stone?"

"Yes," Mike said with a curt nod, holding out his right hand, which the sergeant grabbed and shook. "Sergeant Miller?" He received the confirming nod he was expecting. "Is it here?"

"Yes, sir. One of our mounted officers found it and I called it right in."

Mike nodded grimly. "Thank you."

Steve, who had caught up, leaned forward. "Inspector Keller," he said quickly, also reaching out to shake the Park officer's hand.

"Sergeant Miller." There was an awkward pause, then Mike turned without another word and strode towards the edge of the ravine. The soil was rapidly turning to mud. There was a thick rope tied to the trailer hitch of the pickup truck, the back end of which was facing the ravine.

Miller caught up with Mike at the pickup truck. "Sir, we're leaving everything as it is until the Medical Examiner gets here."

Mike glanced at him. "When will that be?"

"Well, sir, there's a multi-vehicle collision with fatalities on the Redwood Highway near Chapman. We only have one M.E. in this county. It's, ah, it's gonna be an hour or two until he can get here. I'm sorry, sir."

Mike looked from the ravine to the obviously upset Park officer. "I understand, Sergeant. This isn't an emergency, after all. We can wait."

Without another word, Mike stepped towards the back of the truck, picked up the rope and began to rappel down the ravine. Steve, beside Miller, watched anxiously as the older man's leather-soled shoes slipped in the thickening mud as he disappeared into the undergrowth.

Steve looked at Miller and sighed, shaking his head, then he grabbed the rope and followed his partner down. Mike was standing at the edge of a small ribbon of rainwater that filled the ditch at the bottom of the ravine. Three park officers were waiting nearby.

At the edge of the water, half in and half out, a small dark red carpet, about three feet wide, rolled up and secured with grey duct tape, lay in the mud. Mike was standing perfectly still, his hands at his sides, rain pouring from the brim of his hat, staring at the carpet.

Steve gave him several seconds, then reached out and gently touched his forearm. "Listen, ah, Mike, it's gonna be awhile till the M.E. gets here, right? Why don't we wait in the car, out of the rain?"

The older man, continuing to stare at the rolled carpet, shook his head. "I'm not going to leave him alone any longer," he said quietly.

Steve stared at his partner's downturned face for several drawn-out seconds, removed his hand and took a step back. He gestured with his head for one of the uniformed park officers to approach and whispered in his ear. The officer nodded, grabbed the rope and disappeared up the slippery bank.

They stood in silence for several minutes until the officer returned, several items slung over his shoulders as he descended once more with the rope. He approached the younger city cop and handed him a thick gray blanket.

Steve looked around, finding a flat area like a small bench a few feet away. He stepped towards it, unfolded the blanket and laid it down, then moved back to his partner. "Mike," he said softly, once more putting a gentle hand on his arm, "we're not going to go anywhere, but I think we should sit, okay?"

Mike allowed himself to be led to the blanket and he sat, continuing to stare at the carpet. Relieved that he got his partner off his feet, Steve accepted the beige raincoat from the Park officer and shrugged it on, turning up the collar against the rain that was seeping through the thick canopy above them. Then he took the black topcoat and put it around the older man's shoulders.

Satisfied he had done all he could for the moment, Steve sat beside his uncommunicative partner and they waited.

The rain continued to pound, and cold rivulets of water continuously slid down his forehead. He blinked constantly to clear his eyes. Suddenly the deluge seemed to stop and he looked up, then froze and swallowed heavily, a warm smile briefly lighting his features. One of the park officers had magically appeared on the ridge slightly above, standing over them with a large umbrella.

Eventually they could hear a commotion, and several people started coming down the hill using the rope. Miller appeared first, followed by a middle-aged man in a dark raincoat then a younger man carrying a large case. Mike and Steve stood up and Miller crossed towards them. "Doctor Armitage, our Medical Examiner. Dr. Armitage, Lieutenant Stone and Inspector Keller from the SFPD."

"Sorry I'm so late -" Armitage said brusquely, quickly shaking hands all around.

"It's all right, Doctor, we understand," Mike cut him off.

Armitage had been briefed at the top of the ravine by Miller, and he nodded curtly and turned towards the carpet. The younger man who had accompanied the doctor was removing a large camera and flash from case he'd been carrying. The officer with the umbrella was now standing over him, protecting the camera equipment.

"Jason, get shots of the carpet from all angles," Armitage ordered and the younger man nodded, stepping closer to the edge of the small creek. The whine of the recharging flash was the only sound that could be heard in the suddenly claustrophobic space. After several shots, Armitage said, "That's enough, Jason, that'll do." The doctor stepped closer, eyeing the rolled carpet with a professional eye. He glanced up at a nearby park Officer. "Okay, you can pull it out of the water now."

As he took a step back, the doctor looked up at Mike. "You're absolutely sure there's the body of a young boy in there?" he asked.

Mike, not taking his eyes from the carpet, nodded, "Yes. Donald Tyler. He's three years old."

Armitage's concerned stare slid from the older cop to his younger partner, who nodded in confirmation. The doctor took a deep breath. "Lieutenant," he said almost gently, "I don't want to open the carpet here and risk contaminating any evidence that might be inside. I want to take it back to my examination room. Is that okay with you?" He knew he didn't need the lieutenant's permission, but it was a courtesy he felt compelled to extend.

Mike swallowed and took a deep breath, then he nodded. "Of course, I understand."

Armitage nodded his thanks, then gestured to a park officer. Within minutes, a small wire litter was lowered by the rope and, under Mike's watchful eye, Armitage gently and carefully lifted the carpet, placed it on the litter and strapped it in. As it disappeared from his sight, Mike began to follow, but could get no footing on the muddy slope. He waiting impatiently for the rope to be lowered then pulled himself out.

When Steve finally reached the road, following Armitage and the photographer, Mike was standing near the litter, staring at the carpet. After watching the doctor and his assistant slide the litter into the back of their M.E. station wagon, Mike turned abruptly and started for the LTD. Steve jogged to catch up, getting in behind the wheel as Mike got in the passenger side.

They were wet, cold and tired, but Steve knew that Mike wouldn't leave little Donny Tyler alone. With a worried and affectionate smile, he glanced across the front seat. Mike's eyes were riveted on the car ahead of them.

As they followed the Medical Examiner's wagon down the rain-slicked roads towards San Rafael, Steve knew their day, and their involvement with Donny Tyler and the Beatons, was far from over.

Looking across the front seat once again, he wondered how long it would take until he got the Mike Stone he had grown to know and love back – or if he would ever get him back at all.


	13. Chapter 13

His hair still wet and matted to his forehead, Steve made his way across the Medical Examiner's office with two cups of steaming coffee. Approaching his partner, who was sitting in a metal guest chair against a glass office wall, he held out one of the cups. When there was no immediate response, he whispered, "Mike."

Blinking quickly, the older man looked up and met his eyes, then refocused on the mug that was being held mere inches from his face. Mike's frown softened and a small smile managed to surface. "Oh, ah, thanks, buddy boy," he said quietly, taking the cup. The warmth was welcoming, and he wrapped both hands around the mug after taking a sip.

"You're welcome," the younger man said genially as he sat and took a sip from his own cup. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Not bad, for office coffee. We should ask them what kinda beans they use."

He received another smile and gentle chuckle from the older man who then lapsed back into a despondent silence, the cup seemingly already forgotten, held loosely in both hands in his lap.

Steve looked over. "They'll be here as soon as they can," he said encouragingly, and Mike nodded.

When they had arrived at the M.E.'s office behind the coroner's wagon hours before, Mike had taken out his wallet, rooted through the slots, and handed Steve a business card. "Call them for me, will ya?" he had requested. "Ask for Artie. Artie Solosky. Tell him I need him to have a car on standby and I'll let them know when to send it over."

Steve had studied the card and then his partner. "Mike, are you sure -?"

"I'm sure," the older man had cut him off. "Do it for me, please?"

Nodding and smiling warmly, Steve had gone off to make the call.

It had been a rough day. Doctor Armitage had invited both San Francisco detectives to watch the autopsy, if they cared to do so. Armitage knew that Mike could have insisted that the body be transferred back to San Francisco to their own medical examiner; after all, the death had occurred in The City.

But Mike had been impressed with the professionalism and care that Armitage had shown since he had arrived at the ravine site, and he knew from Miller that the Marin County M.E. had a stellar reputation.

Mike had opted to witness the complete procedure, from the cutting of the tape and unrolling of the carpet through the autopsy itself. Steve remained in the office proper, getting the paperwork in order and keeping The City officials at both SFPD and the M.E.'s office up to date.

When Mike had finally emerged from the autopsy room, his already grim mood had become even darker. He had nodded to Steve, which the younger man knew meant he now needed to make the second call to Artie Solosky, which he did, keeping an eye on his partner as he sat in one of the chairs near an inner office wall and stared at the floor.

That's when Steve had decided they both needed a cup of coffee.

Now they were sitting in silence, Steve's sipping the hot beverage while Mike's mug went cold. Eventually the older man stirred. He glanced briefly in his partner's direction and cleared his throat slightly. "It, ah, it happened just like they said it did. Donny died of asphyxiation." He inhaled deeply. "Remember Kate Beaton telling us he had a bit of a cold? Armitage said that's what killed him. When Rosie put the tape over his mouth, he couldn't breathe through his nose… and that's what killed him…"

Steve let the silence lengthened a bit, then asked gently, "How long…?"

"Armitage said it didn't take too long…" Mike's voice caught and he gasped for air. Steve quickly took the cup of cold coffee out of his hands and Mike brought his right hand up to cover his eyes, dropping his head and bracing his elbow against his thigh.

Steve put both mugs on the floor, then laid his hand on his partner's back, sliding it up to grab the back of the older man's neck and squeezing gently. They sat that way for a couple of minutes while Mike struggled to pull himself together.

Satisfied that his partner was back in control, Steve asked quietly. "Beaton said he set fire to the carpet… ?"

Mike, still looking at the floor, nodded. "He did. But there was enough water at the bottom of the ravine that it didn't burn. The water put it out."

Steve took a deep breath and closed his eyes. At least Mike had been spared witness to that atrocity. His hand slid down his partner's back, gently patting him a few times before reaching to the floor for his almost empty coffee cup.

The hour was late and they were alone in the office. The door to the autopsy room opened, and Armitage and his assistant exited. Both cops looked up as the coroner said to his colleague, "Thanks for everything, Matt. I'll see you in the morning."

With a nod to the two seated detectives, the assistant crossed the room and exited. They stood as Armitage approached. "He's ready to go, Mike," he said kindly. "I'll finish up the paperwork and as soon as you're ready, you can take him home."

Swallowing heavily, and with a grateful nod and small warm smile, Mike shook Armitage's hand. "Thanks, Jacob. I – ah," he glanced at Steve, "we appreciate everything you've done here today."

"I wish I could say it's been a pleasure," Armitage said sadly. "I abhor cases like this; I've seen too many over the years and they never get any easier." Mike nodded, looking down. "I'll, ah, I'll get the paperwork done so you can leave as soon as the hearse gets here."

"Thanks, Doc," Mike smiled as the coroner crossed the large room to his office, then sank back onto the chair. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but he knew his day wasn't done just yet. He began to hope he had the strength to see it through.

Steve, keeping a worried eye on his partner, glanced at his watch. It was late in the evening of what had turned out to be a very long day, which showed no sign of ending anytime soon. But getting the body of Donny Tyler back to The City seemed the least of their worries right now. They would still need to deal with the aftermath of Mike's assault on John Beaton.

Not for the first time he wished he had read his partner's intentions sooner, had been able to stop him before he could lay his hands on the unsuspecting Beaton. While Mike had been in the autopsy room, he had taken the opportunity to call in to Homicide and speak to Sergeant Healey. Beaton turned out to be shaken but otherwise okay; luckily Mike's sucker punch had not broken his jaw, but it was badly bruised. And there were bruises on his neck as well from Mike's fingers. It was not going to be easy to sweep this under the carpet, not that Mike would condone such action.

It would be up to the Chief now as to what would become of the lieutenant. And they both knew it. Steve looked sideways at his partner as they sat, wondering once again if this might be the last time they would be working together.

He closed his eyes and shuddered at the thought. After so many years, he couldn't conceive of doing this job without Mike at his side.

A buzzer sounded, and Armitage exited his office, glancing in their direction as he headed for the front door. They stood, realizing it was the after-hours buzzer and that the 'car' sent by Artie Solosky was waiting out front.

Armitage passed back through the office. "I'm having them drive around to the loading dock. We'll meet them there." Mike and Steve followed him across the office and through a back door, into a large receiving area with two garage doors. A gurney containing a black, not quite filled body bag stood near the door.

Armitage pushed a button on the wall and one of the garage doors opened; a black hearse backed into the space. The driver's door opened and a small, impeccably dressed grey-haired older man emerged.

"Artie!" Mike almost gasped, taking a quick step towards the funeral director and extending his hand. "Artie, I didn't mean for you to make the trip."

"Michael," Solosky smiled warmly, taking Mike's hand in both of his, "from what your partner told me, it's the least I could do. It's no problem at all."

Swallowing heavily, Mike face momentarily crumpled as he turned and nodded towards the young man at his side. "Artie, this is Steve Keller, my partner."

Steve smiled as he took Solosky's hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Solosky enveloped Steve's hand in both of his as well. "And a pleasure to meet you, young man. I just wish it was under better circumstances, believe me." He glanced towards the gurney. "So, Michael, is this the boy?"

Mike took a step closer to the gurney. "Yes," he said quietly, "Donald Tyler."

Solosky nodded, crossed to the back of the hearse and opened the large rear door. Doctor Armitage stepped forward, introduced himself to the funeral director and together then transferred the body bag from the M.E.'s gurney to the one in the back of the hearse. Solosky slammed the door and turned to the cops.

"I'll take him back to the home right away. Don't worry, Mike, I'll handle everything."

"If it's okay with you, Steve and I'll follow you back to The City."

Solosky, with a quick, knowing glance at Steve, nodded. "That sounds just fine." He crossed around to driver's door and got in.

"Doctor Armitage, I don't know where to begin to thank you. You've not only been extremely professional but your compassion went above and beyond. I owe you one, sir," Mike said with a slight smile, shaking the coroner's hand.

"You owe me nothing, Lieutenant, except to make sure that that young boy is properly looked after from now on."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Jacob, don't worry about that at all."

With final handshakes, Mike and Steve retrieved their still drying overcoats and stepped out of the coroner's office into a pitch-black night that was mercifully rain-free. The hearse was idling near the parking lot exit, waiting.

The tan LTD started up and fell into line behind the hearse and the small cortege made its slow and solemn way back down the 101, over the Golden Gate Bridge and home.

After winding through the deserted streets of the usually bustling city, the hearse pulled into the driveway of the Solosky Funeral Home and around to the receiving door of the large red brick building. The unmarked police car followed.

Mike got out as Arthur Solosky backed the hearse up to the oversized wooden double doors, which were opened by an assistant in a dark suit and wearing pristine white gloves. As Solosky got out of the hearse, the assistant opened the large back door and then stepped away, awaiting instructions from his boss.

Mike approached the rear of the hearse and Solosky joined him. "Michael," he said softly, laying a gentle hand on the lieutenant's arm, "we've got it from here. Donald Tyler is in good hands. Loving hands. We're going to take good care of him." The cop was staring into the back of the hearse. Solosky shook his arm and finally the tormented blue eyes turned in his direction. "Mike, why don't you let Steve take you home, get some rest. We'll talk in the morning about arrangements, okay?"

The words seeming to finally sink in, Mike nodded slowly. The funeral director could easily see how exhausted the police lieutenant was, and his heart went out to this deeply troubled man. "Okay… okay…"

"Donald Tyler is safe now, Mike. You've done all you can for him for the moment. Now you have to look after yourself. Do you hear me?"

Another nod. With one more look into the back of the hearse, Mike turned and walked slowly back to the LTD and got in, gently closing the door behind him.

Steve watched as his partner settled in, not making eye contact. The younger man smiled encouragingly. "Everything'll be okay, Mike. They'll take good care of him."

Mike smiled briefly, hearing the same phrase over again. He was actually starting to believe it. He looked at his young friend with warmth. "You're right."

Steve nodded. "So, want me to take you home?"

Mike stared at him for several seconds, naked affection so visible on his face, then he smiled and nodded with an almost renewed vigor. "Yeah… yeah, I do."

The short trip to Mike's house was made in a drained but companionable silence, and as Mike got wearily out of the car, he turned and leaned back in. "You get yourself home and get some sleep too, you hear me? And Steve… thanks for today… for everything… thanks…"

The younger man grinned. "Anytime, Mike, anytime. You know that, right?"

Mike's smile wavered and disappeared. "Yeah… yeah, I do." He slammed the door and started slowly towards the concrete steps, taking them one at a time.

Steve watched him climb, wondering if this could possibly be the last time they would ever be together as partners.


	14. Chapter 14

His high-top PRO-Keds sliding in the sand, he carefully descended the steep berm towards the narrow strip of beach, watching the approach of the tall man in the sneakers, black track pants, and Giants t-shirt and cap. The jogger was looking down, in his own world. He glanced up briefly and almost slid to a stop, eyes widening spontaneously with pleasure then quickly turning into a frown.

Breathing just a little faster than normal, despite the physical exertion, Mike Stone asked flatly, "What are you going here?"

Wearing a slight smile, jeans and a white t-shirt, and having caught the raw joy that had so quickly washed over the other man's face, Steve Keller shrugged and chuckled. "Looking for you," he answered semi-facetiously, waiting for the response. When none came, he continued, "It's been awhile, and I have a couple of things you need to know. Well, three things, to be precise."

It had been ten days exactly since Steve had last laid eyes on his partner, and on that day they hadn't even spoken. The funeral for little Donald Tyler had been shrouded in secrecy. Despite the public interest that had been ratcheted up by the press conference Catherine and John Beaton had held during Donny's 'disappearance', the SFPD had managed to keep a tight lid on any further developments.

And wanting to preserve what little dignity remained for the tragic little boy, a massive effort had been launched to keep a lid on the details of the discovery of his body, the results of the autopsy and, most importantly of all, the low-key but heartbreaking funeral. Attended by officers from both the Homicide and Missing Persons divisions of the SFPD, along with members of the National Park Service of Marin County and the Marin County Coroner's Office, all of whom had a special interest in the fate of Donny Tyler, Mike had stood as self-imposed next-of-kin and overseen the entire sad endeavor.

Looking pale and drawn, Steve couldn't help but notice that his partner had lost weight, and he worried that the older man had not slept since the tiny body had been discovered. Every time he had tried to approach his best friend, Mike had moved away, engaging in conversation with others.

Stung, Steve had naturally taken the rebukes personally, confused as to why his naturally friendly and tactile partner was now so obviously avoiding him. But it hadn't taken long to figure it out; he knew Mike was deeply disturbed about the meltdown over John Beaton. And though Steve knew that Mike felt no regret about his treatment of the negligent father, he was haunted by the unrestrained fury he'd allowed to get the better of him and that had, by association, damaged his partner's reputation as well.

He had let himself down certainly but, more importantly in his own eyes, he had let Steve down, and he couldn't live with that.

He was also having a hard time dealing with the official fall-out from his actions. The day after Donny Tyler's body had been found, the day after the punch that threatened to change his life forever, Mike Stone had been summoned to the office of the Chief of Police. John Conden, the Chief of Detectives, and Rudy Olsen, the head of Homicide, were also in attendance.

A contrite and tight-lipped man had returned to the Homicide bureau almost two hours later, crossing briskly to his office to take his hat and topcoat off the rack and disappear out the door without a word. Watching from his desk, Steve could see that Mike's gun was no longer on his belt, and the familiar bulge in his right pants pocket where his shield and I.D. lived was gone.

It didn't take long for word to filter down from the upper offices. Mike had been suspended, without pay, for a month, with a prospect of further charges, including assault, and the possibility of a civil lawsuit. The threat of termination was also still an option that was being considered, though everyone considered it to be very low on the probability scale.

For over a week now, Steve had wondered how his partner was holding up. He called daily, without an answer, and had even stopped by the house on several occasions, but no amount of pounding on the front door or ringing of the bell would stir the man inside.

He hadn't received a panicked phone call from Jeannie, so he assumed that Mike had been in touch with his daughter and that any acknowledgement of the difficulties he was experiencing had remained unspoken. That, at least, was a relief.

So he had taken to driving by the house at night, checking that lights had been turned on in various and changing locations, and that the place continued to look lived in. He was getting more worried with each passing day, and had finally asked for a day off. In a borrowed car, he had sat down the street from his partner's house and then followed, using all his professional tailing skills, as the older man drove to Baker Beach for a run.

Satisfied that Mike was taking care of himself at least, he had returned to work, and to the arduous task of getting his partner back again. Without Mike at his side, he found his drive and ambition beginning to wane. He'd never realized the influence the older man had over his life; it was both inspiring and intimidating.

Now, the pendulum that had swung so far against his partner was beginning to swing the other way, and Steve was actually starting to see some illumination at the end of this particularly dense and depressing tunnel. He only hoped Mike would see things in the same light.

His hands on his hips, walking in tight circles in an effort to keep warmed up, Mike tilted his head and glared. His voice flat and tinged with anger, he nodded towards the legal-sized white envelop in the younger man's hand and asked, "What's that? My permanent walking papers?"

Steve glanced down at the envelope in his hand. "This? No, this is something else altogether. But ah, yeah, the Chief wanted me to ask you to see him tomorrow morning. 9 a.m., his office."

" _Ask_ me to see him? Like it's a choice?" Mike's tone dripped sarcasm.

Steve cleared his throat, not rising to the bait. He knew Mike too well; this vehemence was all bluff and bluster, the result of a simmering anger and helplessness that had had no outlet for almost two long weeks. "And before you ask, I have no idea what he wants to see you about, but I have a feeling it might be… oh, I don't know, good news."

Mike shot him another annoyed glare. "Good news? Really? What, did everybody in Homicide suddenly go deaf and dumb? Did Beaton fall in the shower? Come on, you know as well as I do that, legally, I don't have a leg to stand on. They have me dead to rights. They can do with me what they please and I have no legitimate recourse."

Nodding in reluctant agreement, Steve sighed heavily but with a self-satisfied smirk. "You'd think that…" he sighed enigmatically, looking away mischievously.

Mike's eyes narrowed and he stopped pacing. "What are you driving at?" he asked, sounding confused and wary.

Steve nodded down the beach over his shoulder, a twinkle in his eye. The sun had begun to set and with it, he knew, the warm salty air would quickly begin to chill. "You're starting to cool down, you want to keep jogging –?" He had started to turn away and Mike grabbed his arm.

"What are you talking about?"

Steve stared him in the eye and bit his bottom lip, almost unable to keep himself under control. His sudden broad grin wavered and disappeared, and he said gently, "Come on, let's go for a walk."

Still eyeing him suspiciously, Mike followed a half step behind as the younger man started down the beach. "Are you going to tell me?" he pressed, a hesitant optimism in his voice that almost broke the younger man's heart.

Steve glanced over his shoulder at his best friend, who was staring at the sand. He slowed slightly so Mike would catch up. "Phil Jenkins went to see the Chief this afternoon. He, ah, he had a petition with him."

"A petition?"

"Yeah. Phil's taken everything that's happened in the past couple of weeks pretty hard. He feels guilty about your… situation; he thinks it's his fault."

"How the hell is it _his_ fault? He had nothing to do with what happened."

"Well, he figured if he hadn't brought the case to us, well, you wouldn't be suspended –"

"Donny Tyler would still be dead. He was dead before we ever took over this case, you know that. Phil knows that." Mike paused and they walked in silence for several long seconds. "I'm the only one responsible for what happened to me. I'm the one that threw that punch, not Phil."

Steve nodded, staring grimly at the sand they were walking over. He inhaled loudly. "Anyway, ah, Phil had this idea. It took a few days for him to get it organized. He, ah, he started a petition…"

"Yeah, you said that. A petition?" Mike asked in wonder. "What kind of a petition?"

Steve cleared his throat as he stopped and faced his erstwhile partner. "Mike, a lot of the guys… hell, _all_ of the guys think you got a raw deal. There's a lot of anger in the Hall right now. And nobody thinks what you did was wrong. Most of them wish it would've been them." He looked away, whispering, "I know I do."

Mike grabbed his arm, forcing the younger man to look into his eyes. "Don't say that. What I did was absolutely the worst thing I could've ever done. You know that, right?" When Steve didn't say anything, Mike shook his arm, squeezing. "Right?"

Nodding reluctantly, Steve smiled slightly and Mike mirrored the look, letting his hand drop. Steve turned and headed down the beach again. "Anyway, ah, Phil decided he needed to circulate this petition to see how many of the guys he could get on record saying that you'd been given the shaft and they wanted something done about it."

"That's how they worded it?" Mike asked, amusement for the first time colouring his words.

Steve chuckled and shook his head. "Well, no, it was a little more formal than that." He glanced back at his still smiling friend and a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time filled his soul. "But basically it said that if you weren't fully reinstated and back on the payroll by tomorrow that… well, that they were gonna walk."

Mike stopped in his tracks. Steve pulled up and turned. The older man's head came up sharply. "Walk? You mean like, go out on strike?"

Steve shook his head. "No," he said slowly, "I mean quit. They've threatened to resign. All of them. Inspectors, sergeants, lieutenants, beat cops, patrolmen and women, even a couple of captains."

Mike was staring into his eyes, as if desperately wanting to believe him but not allowing himself the luxury.

"I'm not joking, Mike, I'm deadly serious. The petition has been on the Chief's desk since early this afternoon. He called me just before four and asked me to track you down and invite you to his office tomorrow morning."

Still not believing what he was hearing, Mike's stunned gaze had dropped to the sand once more as he struggled to marshal his thoughts. "Um, ah…" he took a deep breath and looked up, "how… ah, how many people signed?"

Steve's smile was warm and broad and his eyes crinkled in triumph. "Four hundred and thirty-six."


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanks to all of you who stuck with this story to the end. I hope I didn't disappoint.**

"Four hundred and thirty six?"

"Umh-humh. I guess there are at lot of people who'd miss you prowling the halls as much as I would…" It was said in jest but there was no mistaking the affection and admiration behind the words.

Mike swallowed heavily, his brow still furrowed, then his eyes widened and he unsteadily expelled a held breath. He seemed to be trembling.

"There were a lot more that wanted to sign but Phil ran out of time trying to track them all down; he had to get the petition to the Chief," Steve said softly.

Mike was staring at the sand, shaking his head in disbelief.

"So, anyway," Steve's voice gained some vigor, trying to break the suddenly fragile mood, "I'm thinking that, oh, I don't know, I guess you're gonna be getting your star back tomorrow, so if you have something else planned… you know, something better to do, you may want to –"

His head snapping up with a wry smile, the older man intoned with a dry chuckle, "No, ah, my calendar is pretty free."

"I thought it might be," Steve said glibly, nodding.

From under the brim of the black baseball cap, Mike looked at him warmly but sadly. "Look, Steve, the Chief might allow me back to work, but I still have a lot of legal crap hanging over my head, you know, stuff that won't just –"

"You let somebody else worry about that, all right?" Steve interrupted gently. "As far as you're concerned, it's over and done with, okay?"

Mike shook his head slightly. "I don't understand."

"Phil Jenkins isn't the only one who's got your back. Gerry O'Brien has been working with Rudy and, I gather, with a couple of people higher up, and from what I was told today, you don't have to worry about any fallout from the John Beaton episode or anything else for that matter."

"But –"

"Mike," Steve said sharply, "how many times in your career have you gone above and beyond to get someone's ass out of a fire? Well, it's time for you to just take a step back and keep your mouth shut and let someone else do it for you… okay?" He turned and continued down the beach; Mike followed after a slight delay, his head down, staring at the sand again, trying to process this new and overwhelming development.

They walked in silence for several minutes before the younger man stopped near an outcrop of rocks. He crossed to them and sat, Mike following almost somnambulantly, still in a daze. The majestic beauty of the Golden Gate Bridge, gleaming in the late day sun, loomed over them.

Steve watched as the older man settled himself, then he hefted the envelop in his hand. As Mike looked at it, he said quietly, "When everybody found out what you'd done, about the funeral and all that, well…" He held it out and Mike reached for it almost reluctantly, meeting the younger man's stare with a skeptical hesitation.

Surprised by the weight, Mike slipped his index finger under the top flap of the heavy white envelope and slit it open. He sat back quickly and gasped as his eyes fell on the thick stack of bills inside, a fifty on the top.

"Everybody pitched in," Steve offered quietly. "Nobody thought you should be out of pocket for everything – the funeral home, the plot, the casket, the service…"

"Artie did everything wholesale," Mike explained with a slight smile and a shrug.

"Still… There was no need for you to pay for it all yourself." He nodded towards the stack of bills in the envelope. "There's more than enough in there to reimburse you for all those expenses… and enough to make up for the two weeks pay you've been docked."

Mike swallowed and his head came up quickly. "No! No, I don't need that –"

"Mike, take it," Steve said firmly. "It was donated, and collected, with love and respect. It would be an insult for you to turn it down, now wouldn't it?"

The older man had sagged where he sat, the envelope of money hanging loosely in his hand. It seemed the surprises just kept on coming and he was having a hard time processing everything. His free hand came up and Steve saw him brush the moisture away from his eyes. The younger man reached out and, with an affectionate chuckle, gently patted his best friend's back.

"Oh, ah, one more thing…"

Mike raised his head, his eyebrows knit and his expression pleading, _'Please, not something else….'_

Steve laughed slightly at the look. "I just want to say, if there's more in there than needed, it's still all yours. You can donate the rest of it to PAL or the PBA… wherever – it's your call."

Mike stared at the pile of money in his hand, speechless. He remained perfectly still for several long seconds then he sighed loudly and looked up into the warm and affectionate green eyes. He shook his head in wonder. "I don't know what to say…"

"You don't have to say anything. Just promise me you'll go in to see the Chief tomorrow morning… and then come back to work with me in the afternoon." His soft smile turned into a full-blown grin. Not wanting to embarrass the older man further, he glanced around as Mike looked down and took a deep steadying breath, then he slapped the older man on the shoulder. "Come on, it's getting cold. Let's get outa here." He stood and waited till Mike did the same.

They started back down the beach, Mike once more a step behind. Steve glanced over his shoulder. "Listen, ah, I don't have any plans for dinner… what do you say we go back to your place, I'll wait while you shower and change and then we'll go out for dinner? My treat."

Mike looked at the back of his friend's head silently as they walked; Steve waited, knowing his partner was having trouble finding his voice. Finally, softly, almost unheard over the lapping water, "Yeah, I'd like that. But, ah, but dinner's on me, okay?"

With a gentle laugh, Steve nodded. "All right, you got it. Dinner's on you."

He heard the quiet chuckle behind him, then, "Oh, ah, you better review your tailing skills, by the way."

"What?"

"Your surveillance skills? I think you need a refresher."

Steve stopped and turned to face his now mischievously smiling companion.

"I saw you the other day. When you were driving that dark blue Corolla? You followed me from my house to here."

Steve pulled his head back slightly, brows knit in disbelief. "You did not…" he protested feebly.

With a quiet chuckle and evil smirk, Mike walked past him and continued down the beach. "Then how did I know about the Corolla?"

"Damn it," Steve grumbled as he jogged to catch up. "I thought I was being so careful."

"Obviously not…" The gentle laugh faded away and they walked in silence for a while. Eventually Steve looked sideways.

"Why Donny?" he asked quietly.

A beat, a held breath. "What do you mean?"

"I mean why Donny Tyler? Why not any of the other child murders we've had to investigate?"

Mike continued to stare at the sand as they walked. He shrugged. "I don't know, I really don't. I mean, why does someone fall in love with one girl and not another. Who knows, right?"

Steve nodded slowly. "Yeah, I get ya."

They carried on in silence for another couple of minutes and were finally approaching the slope leading up to the parking lot. Mike reached out and grabbed his young friend's arm, pulling him to a stop.

"When you got here you said there were three things you wanted to tell me. What's the third?"

Steve's brow had furrowed in confusion, then he brightened and chuckled. "Oh, that. It doesn't matter now." He started to pull away to continue up the hill.

But Mike wouldn't let go of his arm. "No no no, I want to know. What was the third thing?"

Steve stopped and faced the older man, expressionless, almost a little annoyed. He sighed and a tiny smile emerged. "The third thing? All right. The third thing was… I just wanted to see you. I missed you. I've kinda gotten used to you being in my life over the past few years, and it felt weird not having you around." He watched as the expectant look in his best friend's eyes dissolved into a heartbreaking combination of guilt and affection.

Mike looked down, removing his hand from Steve's arm and swallowing heavily with a ragged chuckle. "I see."

Steve's smile turned into a grin and he slapped Mike's shoulder. "Come on, I'm getting hungry." He scrambled up the sharp, uneven rocks to the edge of the parking lot, reaching back to grab Mike's hand and help him up. They both stamped their feet to knock the excess sand off their shoes before heading to their respective cars.

"I'll see you back at your place," Steve said as he started to move away. Mike grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop, and their eyes met.

With a warm smile and gentle nod, Mike said quietly, "I missed you too, buddy boy."


End file.
